


The Fortuitous Guide On How To Get Your Valentine (Angel)

by crepesandoysters



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Beelzebub is just keeping it cool because of course they are, But Crowley won't notice cause he's too busy with his own pining, First Kiss, Fluff and Humor, Gabriel and Sandalphon have the embarrassing surnames they deserve, M/M, Pining Aziraphale (Good Omens), Pining Crowley (Good Omens), Romcom Vibe with a capital R and V, These two will flirt with each other until you scream KISS PLEASE into the ether, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Valentine's Day, You’re gonnna ship every single author and reviewer after this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-14 15:14:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29420688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crepesandoysters/pseuds/crepesandoysters
Summary: Apollyon Review can easily call itself the most popular of book review magazines in whole of London. Anthony Crowley, on his part, can easily call himself the best of writers in whole of the magazine. No book passes through his hands without being wrapped in persuasive words and praises, sent off to enjoy a spike in popularity.And when he's assigned to write a review on the book published by a university professor, a certain A.Z. Fell, on the history behind Valentine's Day, Crowley deems it an annoying but short job.Except that the job soon turns a bit longer and a whole lot more pleasant when he realises that he's far more interested in the author than the book itself.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 77





	1. Find Your Angel

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine's Day to you all! I come bearing gifts, and the gift in question is a Valentine Day's fic that could rival the best of romcoms in terms of utter and undeniable Fluff with a capital F in bold font. 
> 
> I will post the next two parts of the story over the course of this week, and I must warn you that the levels of Fluff are likely to reach Lemme Lay Down On The Floor As I Think About Them levels. 
> 
> There are a few mentions of the history of Valentine's Day in this chapter, which can get very gruesome, but I included no specific details and any description of it is very general.

**February 4th - Thursday**

A massive calendar hung on the wall of the main office space of the Apollyon Review magazine, stretching nearly as wide as the windows on the opposite side of the room. There were no holiday days marked on it, nor was any employee allowed to add any personal reminders to it. The last time a temp named Eric had tried to add something of that nature - his and his boyfriend’s anniversary, to be precise - he had been not so gently accompanied to the exit, never to cross the threshold again. Now, his twin brother, Erik, made sure to maintain a two-metre gap between him and the ominous black and red square at all times.

The only reminders that could be added to it were about deadlines for reviews, interviews with new aspiring authors who came begging for a corner dedicated to them in the magazine, and any changes in publication dates. Each and every one of them looked pristine and convincing, as though the words on the calendar were whispering in the employees’ ears and prompting them to drop anything else they were doing and complete the task of the day. Much like the actual articles published in the pages of the magazine, in fact, which had been praised by the authors who had fought for the privilege to appear on it as “compelling to the point of hypnosis”, “the real drive behind book sales” and, a personal favourite, “a money-making spell”. Apollyon Review prided itself in being the leading book review magazine in London, with every book reviewed and praised by one of its writers suddenly enjoying a spike in sales and popularity. No author in the city - or the country, for that matter - was immune to the spell of Apollyon Review, each spot in the magazine having been booked months in advance.

There was no space on its calendar for anything that wasn’t business. And there most certainly wasn’t a space for Valentine’s Day.

Therefore, Anthony Crowley was particularly surprised when the editor-in-chief, Beez, walked right into the centre of the office space and enounced, “We need a volunteer to write a piece for Valentine’s Day.”

He begrudgingly stood up from his chair to go open his office door, leaning against the doorframe as he waited for Beez to add any more details that would make the words they had just spoken sound less like they’d suffered a recent blow to the head. He had just been in the middle of finishing his last article, one that he was especially proud of. He had managed to make an insipid nonfiction retelling of the history of fascism in Italy sound like the most entertaining historical book of the year. After all, despite the lack of a consistent prose and the even more worrying lack of any actual condemning words against fascism itself, the author had spent half a fortune for this review. That’s why the job had been given to Crowley, who had no trouble defining himself as the most skilled writer at the magazine. There was no poorly plotted fiction, no wildly uninteresting biography that he could not sell as a must-have in every reader’s personal library. If there was someone who really knew how to do their job, that was Crowley.

Now, he cocked an eyebrow in a mildly quizzical expression when Beez turned around to face him in particular. “A professor from Elysium University has recently published a book on the history of the origin of Valentine’s Day. The university president just called to ask for a review of it in next Sunday’s publication.” They let their eyes run over the people gathered around to listen with a threatening look. “A _good_ review.”

Crowley scoffed at the same time as Hastur, one of the editors, objected, “We publish on Mondays.”

A single look from Beez was enough to make him fall silent again. “And this time we’ll publish on Sunday.”

A quick glance at the calendar hanging on the wall told Crowley that the following Sunday would just so happen to fall on Valentine’s Day. An amused smirk played at his lips, as he wondered how much money the university director had been willing to throw at them to make a change in publication date and a last-minute spot on the magazine possible.

“This will be the springboard for the book’s visibility. So,” Beez’s eyes were once again on him. “I hope you’ll be taking this job seriously, Crowley.”

His eyes widened in surprise, and he took a few steps forward. “Now, hang on a second. You said you needed a volunteer. Haven’t heard any words coming out of my mouth.”

“Well, I’m hearing far too many of them now.” Their voice dangerously resembled shards of ice on free fall. “I’ve chosen you as a volunteer, enough questions.”

“That’s not how volunteering works.”

“Your office. _Now_.”

It was all Crowley could do to send a deep frown their way before walking back into his office, admitting a furious defeat. Beez followed suit and closed the door behind them, drowning out the bustling noises from the sea of desks and Hastur’s indignant grumbles about “toffee-nosed university bastards”.

As Beez went to stand by his desk, their presence seemed to fill the entire space. Despite their average height - one of the topics that everyone carefully avoided for the sake of maintaining their lives as they were - they only ever needed a few seconds to impose themselves as the most important person in the room and dominate over a crowd. They were the only person Crowley knew who could wear an orange silk shirt with a black suit and still look intimidating. They were also the only person who could be named after a Biblical Lord of Hell and be proud of it.

Although they preferred to use the name Beez, mostly for the sake of superstitious clients, they had no shame in sporting Beelzebub Flye as their full name on their business card. They enjoyed immensely seeing people thrown off by it and were a master in using that to their advantage. If Crowley hadn’t known them well for years, he might have fallen victim to that same terrifying spell.

“Here’s the contact information for the author,” Beez handed him a sheet of paper with a name, email and university address. “He’s a History professor at the university and has accepted to meet you for an interview. The book has already been published a month ago, so you better make this quick. I want that article finished and polished by next Friday.”

Crowley sent an amused grin their way. “Are we really publishing the next issue on Valentine’s Day? What, we’re gonna put a nice big pink heart on the cover too?”

“One more question, Crowley, and I might just have to move you to Hastur’s desk over there.” They pointed their thumb backwards to the editor’s space, where he was currently hunching over the desk while standing because a pile of sheets and binders filled the only chair almost to the point of collapse.

Crowley knew that he could push himself further than others with Beez. He also knew when he shouldn’t push anymore. “Noted.”

With one last look, they turned around and walked out of the office, closing the door behind them just hard enough to startle him slightly. He brought his gaze back to the sheet of paper in his hands, eyeing the author’s name with a raised eyebrow. A.Z. Fell. He rolled his eyes at the sight of it. Just the kind of name he would expect from a pompous university professor.

As he sat down in front of his computer, typing out an overly formal email that would hopefully get him an interview soon enough, Crowley already anticipated this whole ordeal to be a rather painful one. He hit send and leaned back on his chair, silently wondering how in the world would anyone write a whole book on Valentine’s Day.

He was going to need another coffee.

**February 5th - Friday**

Only a handful of minutes driving through the county of Oxfordshire were needed for Crowley to realise that Elysium University was about as hidden as the towering red bus for tourists that had blocked traffic in front of him that morning. After the fifth intersection in a row sporting a big green sign pointing in the direction of the university, he had decided to make a game out of it. He finally made a sharp turn to follow the main path leading to the school’s entrance after exactly nineteen signs. Tossers didn’t even bother to reach an even number, was his annoyed thought as he parked the Bentley right by the open doorway.

It was only once he got out of the car and circled around it that he noticed the short man standing by the entrance, his face twisted into a slightly displeased expression as though he had just sucked on a lemon and were still deciding whether he liked it or not. He stood with his back completely straight, so rigid in his posture that his stocky build made him look like a particularly large column capital. Crowley found himself smirking lightly at that thought.

“You arrived quite late, Mr. Crowley.” Oh, so he was an unpleasant column capital.

“Yeah, sorry about that. You know how London traffic is.” He flashed the man a grin.

“I’m afraid I do not. I am not a big fan of the city. Far too busy for my taste.”

“‘Course not,” Crowley’s smile froze in place. “Mr. Fell, I presume.”

He extended a hand to shake, which the man regarded with a weird look - was that disgust? - before he finally took it in his own for a long moment that definitely felt like immense torture to the both of them. Then, his face broke out into a bent smile, a golden tooth catching the sun rays. “Oh Lord, absolutely not. I’m Dr. Alfess. Sandy Alfess.”

“Dr. Alfess,” Crowley repeated, and he couldn’t quite bring himself to say anything close to ‘Nice to meet you’, so he settled on clamping his mouth shut. This was off to a great start.

Dr. Alfess was still smiling as though Crowley had just said the funniest of jokes. He briefly wondered exactly what kind of jokes would sound funny to a man like that. He did not like the answers that his brain came up with. Suddenly, Dr. Alfess giggled in what sounded like amusement, and he had to force himself not to take a step back at the nasal sound. “Me, Mr. Fell? Oh, that’s just ludicrous! Oh no no, certainly not me.”

“Right. Not Mr. Fell, got it.” Crowley took a few steps towards the threshold in the hopes that this Alfess guy would finally decide to lead him inside. “May I see him now? I’m on a bit of a tight schedule.”

The other man allowed himself a few more giggles as the weak sunlight reflected on equal parts on his golden tooth and mostly bald head. Crowley felt slightly sorry for whomever Mr. Fell was for having to be laughed at by a guy who could easily win the _Prick of the Year_ award. Then, he remembered that he was probably just as unpleasant as his colleague. He really regretted not having stopped for coffee that morning.

Eventually, after several more seconds, Dr. Alfess recomposed himself and walked inside without another word, clearly expecting Crowley to follow him. He did so with a scowl that he’d been repressing for the past handful of minutes, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his coat. He glanced around as he was led down a series of corridors, all looking like a cold display of marble, polished wood and pompous plaques written in Latin and all looking exactly the same. More than a university, it reminded him of an empty, lifeless museum.

When they stopped in front of a closed door displaying yet another plaque with the name ‘Dr. A. Z. Fell’ on it, Crowley almost heaved a loud sigh of relief. If he was lucky enough, it would be a painful but short affair from now on. At the same time, he found himself wondering why Dr. Alfess wouldn’t refer to his colleague with his proper title. But alas, it was not his problem. He only needed to get a brief interview and then bolt from that place as fast as his Bentley would carry him.

But this and all other thoughts were cut short and reduced to a shapeless jumble the moment that the knock on the door was answered, revealing a figure bathed in sunlight on the other side. Crowley was met with a pair of broad shoulders and a solid build, clad in shades of white and beige. The man had a round face enclosed by gentle curves, currently stretched into the most radiant smile he had ever seen. His blond hair appeared nearly white in the late morning light, crowning his head with a cloud of soft curls. If Crowley hadn’t known any better, he could have sworn that they looked like honest-to-someone sunrays lighting up his face. The man himself seemed to radiate light and warmth. Good thing he’d kept his sunglasses on.

 _Get a grip_ , hissed whatever was left of the rational part of his brain. He tried to remember how to form words again, he’d known quite a lot of them until a few seconds prior. Finally, he managed to push out, “Doctor, uh, Doctor Fell?”

If possible, the other man’s smile grew even wider, and he brought out a hand for Crowley to shake. “Yes, that’s me. But you can call me Aziraphale. I suppose you’re from Apollyon Review. Anthony Crowley, right?”

“Just, just Crowley will do.” He shook the other’s hand and held onto it for slightly longer than was needed. Aziraphale did not seem to mind in the slightest, squeezing Crowley’s hand in a tight but gentle grip. His brain kept turning the name around, enjoying the sound of it over and over again. It felt just as otherworldly as his owner, almost, almost…

“It’s, uhm, the name of an angel.” Aziraphale seemed to have read his mind. Crowley sent him a puzzled look, and he continued. “It sounds very biblical, I know. It is quite a strange name.”

“No!” Crowley bit his tongue for having nearly yelled his response. “No. It’s a very nice name. One of the best I’ve ever heard.”

Aziraphale’s cheek tinged with a pale red colour at that, and damn, did he look like he would fit perfectly into a Renaissance painting. Crowley found him absolutely gorgeous.

Now, _that_ was enough to make him shake his head subtly in an attempt to push that thought away. Not even five minutes inside the university, and he was already checking out one of the professors. Beez was going to eat him alive if he let this interview go off the rails.

So, he let his face break out into a charming smile that he could easily hide behind and said, “Well, I’m sure you know why I’m here. Shall we get started?”

“Oh, absolutely. Please, come in.” Aziraphale moved aside to let him into his office. As Crowley walked past him, he noticed another detail of the man’s attire. He had a bowtie, an actual bowtie wrapped loosely around his neck. And a tartan one, at that. Something stirred in his chest at the sight. As if he didn’t already look like the angel he was named after.

Then, Aziraphale closed the door behind him with a courteous nod in Dr. Alfess’s direction - oh, was he still there? - and it was only the two of them in the enclosed space of the office. Crowley was painfully aware of his presence in the room, and, when Aziraphale lightly brushed an arm against his as he walked to the desk, he felt his nerve endings light up on fire.

“Take a seat,” Aziraphale invited him, the brightest of smiles still stamped on his face. Crowley happily obliged, sitting across from him and letting his arm rest on the desk. Their faces suddenly seemed much, much too close, and he was once again grateful for his sunglasses hiding the dumbfounded look that he knew was stuck in his eyes. It took him far too many seconds to realise that he hadn’t spoken a single word since he’d sat down. This interview was turning out to be a rather challenging one.

“Right,” he reached down to grab the small tablet and stylus in an inside pocket of his coat. “This won’t take up too much of your time, I promise.”

“Oh, I don’t mind. I’m flattered to have been reserved a spot in your publication, I hear it is among the favourites in London.”

“We get by. And we’re delighted to feature you in our next issue.” Crowley smirked and leaned back in the chair, crossing his legs so he could write more easily. He could have sworn that Aziraphale’s eyes followed his movements closely. “Only a couple of questions and I’ll personally make sure that your book will be the highlight of the month.”

“I have complete faith in you, Crowley.”

His hand slid across the screen sharply upon hearing that, the stylus tracing a long squiggly line through the entire page. He wasn’t going to get anywhere if Aziraphale insisted on being so… _angelic._

He cleared his throat and tried his best at a somewhat composed voice. “So, uhm, to start us off, what brought you to write about the history of Valentine’s Day? Any particular reason?”

Aziraphale reflected for a moment. “Well, I suppose I find the history of it - its origins and development through the years - quite fascinating. There are still many questions being asked on when and how it first originated, and it was a compelling experience to explore and bind together all of them. Especially considering how different the meaning behind it used to be compared to the one we attribute it today.”

Crowley was already finding taking notes a difficult task, captivated as he was by Aziraphale’s voice. He was profoundly different from most of the authors he’d dealt with in the past, speaking with excitement and conviction. He believed in the words he was saying and clearly needed no help or prompting to delve into a topic. Crowley could easily see how he might bewitch an entire classroom into listening to him for hours. “How so?” He asked, for the first time in an interview truly wanting to know.

Aziraphale chuckled lightly. “There are quite a few aspects to it and, I must warn you, dear boy, they’re not very pretty.”

“I think I can handle it.” He tried not to focus too much on the word _dear_ echoing in his head.

“Well, the most famous version is certainly the one that sees Saint Valentine as the originator, who went against the orders of the Roman Emperor of the time to marry young lovers in secret. Unfortunately, he was discovered and executed after a fairly short time.”

Crowley had already heard that story before, one of the other writers at the magazine had tried to use it as a quirky pick-up line on half of the office for three Valentine’s Days in a row. It had never worked once. But as he listened to Aziraphale narrating it in detail, he thought that it might have worked on him in the past, if only it had been told by… _What_ was he thinking? He scribbled furiously a few more words on the screen, forcing himself to focus back on the interview.

“He was also allegedly the one to write the first “valentine”, in the form of a love letter to his jailor’s daughter.” Aziraphale continued, lost into his own narration.

“Any other versions of the history that a reader might find in your book?”

“Oh, I included all of them!” He smiled widely again, an excited look taking over his features. “They’re all equally worthy of being explored, they paint quite an impressive picture.”

Crowley leaned forward to level his face with Aziraphale’s, an eyebrow raised in a questioning look. “I’d like to hear the most peculiar one.”

“I,” Aziraphale hesitated for a second, and he tried not to read too much into his mildly struck expression. “I don’t know whether ‘peculiar’ would be the right word for it, but this is certainly a sharp deviation from other versions.”

“Do tell more, Aziraphale.”

Another pause that left them staring silently at each other. “Some researchers, ehr, claim that our modern Valentine’s Day is the replacement of an ancient Roman festivity, the Lupercalia. It was a festival in honour of the god of forests and fields, Faunus, and it was performed by an order of priests called the Luperci.”

“Hence the name.”

Aziraphale’s face relaxed a bit, and there was that blinding smile again. “Exactly. It was a way to ensure fertility, for the land and, uh, the population. Descriptions of some rituals can get quite graphic, I assure you.”

Crowley grimaced slightly. “Yeah, we can probably skip those.”

The professor burst into a few giggles at that, which made whatever words he had been about to say die in his throat. Aziraphale’s laugh was soft and merry, rolling out of his mouth like water in a creek. It filled the room in a matter of moments, and to Crowley’s ears it sounded simply _delightful_. It also made his entire script of questions disappear into thin air.

So, he asked the first thing that popped into his head. “Well then, how do you see Valentine’s Day now that you’ve got all this information on it?”

Aziraphale sent him a quizzical look, his shoulders still shaking a little from laughter. “How do you mean?”

“I mean, has it lost some of its charm after you discovered what it used to be? Or has it become more fascinating?”

“I’m not sure. I don’t,” he stared at Crowley, as if deciding whether he wanted to finish the sentence. “I don’t think it ever meant a huge deal to me. Although it is nice to see it turned into a celebration of love, I suppose.”

It was at that point that Crowley’s brain decided to utterly betray him and abandon ship for good, clearly deeming the whole ordeal a losing game. “So, what does your other half think of all this history behind the day?”

Aziraphale’s eyes shot wide open, an incredulous look stamped on his face. At the same time, Crowley’s head launched into a fervent choir of swears as he cursed every single decision he had ever taken that day. He briefly pondered standing up, bidding Aziraphale and his contagious smile goodbye and bolting out of the door. Beez would likely be chasing him down, but he had no problem going into hiding for a while.

His torrent of nonsensical thoughts was blissfully interrupted by Aziraphale’s voice, ringing loudly in his ears. “I can’t answer that unfortunately, seeing as there isn’t an other half at the moment.”

His head shot up to stare into his face. There was a strange glint in the professor’s eyes, and it made a nameless warm feeling grow into Crowley’s chest.

He opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted by the office door slamming open, followed by a piercing voice. “Oh Aziraphale, I see you’ve found the writer from Apollyon Review.”

Aziraphale’s face hardened into a forced smile in a split second as he glanced behind Crowley’s shoulders. “Yes Gabriel, I can manage to find my own interviewer by myself.”

Crowley turned around in his chair to see the newcomer, standing in the entrance. He was tall and broad-shouldered, a square face circled by short dark hair. And right now, he was wearing a wide condescending smile directed at Aziraphale that immediately made the blood in his veins boil. “Of course you can.”

He then turned his gaze to Crowley and extended a hand, a smile that seemed to have jumped out of a badly edited brochure still pressed onto his face. “Mr. Anthony Crowley, yes? I’m Gabriel Archass, the university president. Welcome to Elysium University.”

Crowley wanted to reply “Sounds about right” as he recalled the changes that the president had forced on the magazine. He also wanted to reply “Fitting surname, mate”. Instead, he just set his mouth into a thin line and stood up to shake the man’s hand.

“We’re very glad you could come today,” Gabriel continued. “This book has been a great achievement.”

“Yes, I agree. For Dr. Fell, of course.” He made sure to emphasise Aziraphale’s name, sending a look his way. Aziraphale returned it with a small smile.

Somehow Gabriel’s smile tightened even more. “Yes, yes. And the university, too. I can trust you with writing a flourishing review, now, can’t I?”

Crowley set his jaw to stop himself from snapping back, but his eyebrows still shot up over the rim of his sunglasses in a clearly irritated look. Oh, he was going to have to take the _Prick of the Year_ award from poor Sandy Alfess. This guy obviously deserved it more.

He was trying to find the answer that would sound the least like an insult when Aziraphale intervened, his voice sounding as celestial as ever. “I’m sure Mr. Crowley doesn’t need any sort of encouragement to write a quite remarkable piece, Gabriel.”

Then, Aziraphale turned to look at him with a slight smirk, and it was just about the most enticing look he’d ever seen. A stream of sunlight fell right onto his eyes, giving the impression that his pupils were swimming into a clear sky. The laugh lines at the corners of his mouth had gotten vaguely deeper, and those too he found just as charming. And it didn’t matter that a shadow of displeasure had fallen across Gabriel’s face at that last comment, because Aziraphale’s grin alone was enough to brighten up the whole room.

“Thank you, Dr. Fell,” he maintained a serious tone, although he was doing as bad a job as Aziraphale at hiding his smile.

He made a quick decision in his head. “And, on that matter, I’ll have to ask you for a second meeting. This is an exceptional book, and if my review is to be flourishing,” a single glance at Gabriel ensured him that the word had hit home. Good. “I’m going to need more information from you. Is that alright?”

“Is that really necessary-” Gabriel began.

“Absolutely!” Aziraphale blurted out.

“Fantastic.” Crowley’s grin grew wider. “Can I ask for your phone number, as well? You know, to make scheduling easier.”

Aziraphale was practically beaming at that point, a true sight to behold. Once his number had been added to Crowley’s phone, they both made their way towards the open door. Crowley turned around to face him and raised his hand, having to wait barely a moment before Aziraphale shook it tightly. “I’ll see you soon, then. It was a pleasure.”

Their hands were still clasped together as Aziraphale replied, “Likewise.”

One last shake and then he was out of the door. No goodbye was exchanged between him and Gabriel, and it certainly was a relief for both of them. He forced himself not to turn around as he walked down the cold corridor, a painful contrast to the small and sunny office. He wondered if Aziraphale was still watching him.

The phone shifted lightly in his coat pocket with every step, and he thought that it felt unusually heavy. As though it were now carrying precious cargo.

✦

Crowley had been in his office for hours since returning from Elysium University. He had spent such hours working on a first draft of the review, although a good portion of it was still missing - which was, in fact, all of it. He hadn’t been able to write another word after typing out ‘Aziraphale Fell’, which had prompted the ghost of his ringing laugh to echo through his head. He had also spent such hours with his eyes drifting between his phone and the watch on his wrist, while he pretended to be pondering over what time would be best to give Aziraphale a call only out of concern for his teaching schedule.

The only break in the never-ending cycle of staring at the computer, then at the phone, then at the watch had been provided by Beez, who had let themselves into his office without taking the time to knock. They had announced that they would be sharing his work email with the university president for the very logical reason that they couldn’t be bothered to read anything more from him.

“Bloody brilliant.” Crowley had muttered, and Beez had left without inquiring about the level of sarcasm in that comment. At which point, his eyes had promptly shifted to the computer screen, then the phone, then the watch.

This was ridiculous. He had never let anyone have that strong an effect on him, and he had certainly never let it disrupt his job. Aziraphale had caught him by surprise, is all, he repeated to himself as he began pacing around the office. With his kind smile and bright eyes, his candid hair and laugh like silver bells, such a sharp contrast to the lifeless appearance of that place. No wonder he’d been taken aback. Yes, that was the word to describe it.

With this new resolution in mind, he reached his desk with two long strides and grabbed the phone. It unlocked right onto Aziraphale’s contact, and he tapped on the call icon before he could think twice about it. He was going to talk to him and schedule another meeting, and it was going to be nice and pleasant, because that’s how Aziraphale was. But it would only be that, a nice and pleasant meeting with an author he was reviewing.

He could do that, he thought as the phone began ringing once, twice, three times. He’d done it hundreds of times.

“Hello?” Aziraphale’s voice suddenly rose from the speaker in the same soft tone he had used to greet him just that morning. “Is this you, Crowley?”

A firm grip tightened around Crowley’s chest, and his mouth stretched into an involuntary smile while all his previous propositions left just as quickly as they had come. His hand tightened around the phone. “Hello, Aziraphale.”

_Well, shit._

✦

_Then, it’s a date!_

Aziraphale’s words at the end of the phone call with the highest amount of stammering on his part that Crowley had ever experienced were still resonating in his head. They had been there when he had proudly marked the upcoming Monday on the master calendar of the office with a reminder for their meeting - “It is for work!” He had barked at Hastur when he had tried to object. As if he could ever forget about it. They had been there as he had walked the empty isles of the closest bookshop he could find, looking for a specific volume. And they were there as he settled in bed that evening, in his hands a book titled _The Hidden Face of Valentine_ by A.Z. Fell.

He eyed the book cover warily, taking in the boldly coloured font used for the title and the contrasting shades dividing the image in two distinct halves. In the centre of it was a golden coin, partially turned, engraved with a huge shining heart on one side and a cracked one on the other, heavy shadows falling on it. It didn’t suit anything that Aziraphale had told him about the actual content of the book, he thought with a grimace. It was only made to catch the eye. Still, he opened it and quickly turned the pages to the start of the introduction, surprised at finding himself eager to begin reading.

Crowley couldn’t actually recall the last time he had read a book in full. He could surely list off the top of his head dozens of books that he’d read pieces and snippets of, just enough to be able to give an educated explanation of them. From others he’d only ever taken a few quotes, a paragraph at best, before shelving them indefinitely. Others yet he had tried to truly read but had never been able to finish. That had led to having a separate room in his flat packed with books - floor-to-ceiling shelves of them - that had never been in his hands for more than a handful of days.

He liked to blame this habit of his on the shooting headaches that would follow any attempt to focus on reading for more than an hour or two, courtesy of his moderate eye condition. The expert that had given him the definite diagnosis had used many different words to describe it - minor damage to the retina and vision misalignment, photosensitivity paired with convergence insufficiency, impairment of near-sightedness. What Crowley knew was that focusing for too long on near objects caused shards of pain to erupt in the back of his eyes, making reading for long stretches of time a nearly impossible task. Brightly lit environments tended to have a similar effect, so he had made sunglasses with prescription lenses a constant accessory of his. It was easy to justify the piles of discarded books with these excuses.

But the truth was that, even on the occasions that he had been able to sit down and pick up a book for a couple of hours, one that was worth the time and effort had come very rarely. So, nothing had ever stopped him from closing it and setting it on a shelf to collect dust until another volume could be placed on top of it, not even his job. After all, Crowley was a seller, and a great one at that. He hardly needed the full content of a book to be able to wrap it in a nice bow and send it off to be adored by masses of readers.

And yet, here he was holding Aziraphale’s work in his hands, clasping it as though it were one of his most prized possessions. He _wanted_ to read the words in those pages and follow along as Aziraphale reasoned and explained and reflected. He could nearly see him writing out each word in a placid solitude, sunlit blond hair forming a bright halo around his face.

In the feeble light of a bedside lamp, Crowley smiled, whether at the words or the image of Aziraphale he wasn’t sure.

**February 7th - Sunday**

Crowley had a habit of turning off his phone on Sundays.

Part of the reason for it was that an unbearable number of people had the peculiar ability to always give him a call at the worst possible times - as he was cooking, during a nap, at the bloody crack of dawn, you name it. One of these people often tended to be Beez, staying on the line for barely a minute before hanging up with some sort of threat on the consequences of not finishing his job. By now, he suspected that they had figured out his schedule and had made it their responsibility to make their phone calls as inconvenient as possible. So, he had taken to turning off his phone regularly and giving himself one day where he wouldn’t have to roll his eyes at a name appearing on the screen.

The other part of the reason were his house plants. Crowley had discovered early on in life that he had a knack for convincing any and every plant to grow and flourish, even the most stubborn ones. When someone asked him his secret, he always answered honestly, “Good care and good yelling” and it always elicited a laugh, even though Crowley wasn’t joking. Along with proper watering and sunlight and a good soil, he had included loud scolding in his green-thumb techniques. If plants could be talked to, why couldn’t they be yelled at as well? And the distinguishable improvements in health and appearance of his plants from one Sunday to the next were a clear proof of it. Of course, he couldn’t be expected to sound truly intimidating if his phone kept ringing in the background, interrupting him in the middle of detailing to a specific plant the consequences of having developed two new leaf spots in a week. So, the phone stayed off on Sundays.

Except that Crowley’s phone wasn’t off that particular Sunday, as it became evident once it started ringing loudly in the early afternoon. He had just been inspecting the latest addition to the plant room, eyeing its leaves closely to search for anything that might impact its health. He barely had time to come to the conclusion that it was far too droopy for his taste before the shrill sound of his ringtone made him jump. He groaned loudly as he walked over to his desk where the phone was insistently buzzing on the marble surface. He could not believe that he’d forgotten to turn it off. So much for a quiet day.

Crowley’s fingers hovered over it, ready to reject whatever call he was receiving. Then, his gaze fell on the name spelled out in large letters at the top of the screen, and he froze in place.

Aziraphale.

He blinked once, then twice to make sure that he’d read it correctly. Aziraphale’s name remained unmoving and unchanged as the phone kept ringing on. He finally took it in his hand with a grip that was slightly more uncertain than usual, although he would have never admitted it even to himself. The second it took him to tap on the bright green answer button felt like half an eternity.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Crowley!” Even with the slight electronic hum from the speaker, Aziraphale’s voice sounded heavenly. “I do apologise for bothering you on a Sunday.”

Crowley grinned to himself. He didn’t sound apologetic at all. “Never a bother, Aziraphale.”

“I’m in dire need of your expertise at this moment.”

“Oh, are you, now?” He raised an eyebrow, even though there was nobody to see it. “What for?”

“I’m debating whether I should buy a certain book, a travel guide across Europe published recently. And,” Crowley could hear the smile in his voice. “You did write such a remarkable piece about it, so I thought I’d ask an expert.”

He tried, he _really_ tried not to let his grin grow any wider. He didn’t succeed. The tone of his voice dropped low as he replied, “I wrote that review months ago. Funny that you should mention it, I didn’t know you were a reader of the magazine.”

“Uhm,” Aziraphale inhaled sharply on the other end. “I- I, well, happened upon it.”

“Interesting. And how exactly did you happen upon it, Aziraphale?” He drawled out, as the warm, ever so pleasant feeling arose in his chest again.

Aziraphale let out a small huff. “That’s, ehr, not relevant right now. I really only need your opinion on it.”

Crowley’s expression died down a little as he pondered on it. Aziraphale was an author he was working with, he couldn’t possibly give him his honest opinion. This was supposed to be the moment where he sang the praises of the book just like he’d masterfully done in the review and reassured Aziraphale that he only ever wrote pieces for skilled authors like him. It simply wouldn’t do to confide him that more than often his words painted a much prettier picture than the one that could actually be found inside the book itself. Right?

“It’s terrible.” He replied, and it felt as right and natural as breathing. “Made me fall asleep with only two chapters. I’m fairly sure the author got his inspiration from a Wikipedia page.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, and he didn’t press the matter further. Crowley silently thanked him for it.

“In fact,” he continued. “To be completely honest, the title _Backpacking through Europe_ had given me some serious doubts, seeing as the author doesn’t seem to be backpacking even once.”

The mild indignation in his tone pulled a snort out of Crowley that quickly morphed into a loud laugh. He heard Aziraphale trying and failing to repress a few giggles of his own on the other hand, and he briefly thought that he would have gladly listened to Aziraphale’s laugh for as long as he could have it.

Then, as his snickering slowly died down, Aziraphale asked, “So, do you usually not read the books that you write reviews for?”

Crowley fell serious in an instant, finding himself unsure on how to reply. The question sounded genuine, no hint of judgement or reproach in it. And, just like that, words flowed out of him again, breaking through the filters that he had so carefully put up for protection in the past. “Well, it’s, it’s hard for me to read. Eye condition and all. Haven’t really read that many books lately.”

There was a moment of silence and, before Aziraphale could reply, he added against his better judgement, “But I’ve started reading yours.”

“You- you have?” Aziraphale’s voice sounded slightly trembling now. “You don’t have to feel obligated to, Crowley. I’m sure you can do your job just fine even without it.”

“No, I want to.” He hoped Aziraphale could hear just how much he meant it. “And, I have to say, it’s the best I’ve read in quite some time.” His mouth stretched into a smirk as he pushed a little more. “If it gets any better, I’m gonna have trouble remaining impartial here.”

Aziraphale blurted out a choked up laughter, and oh, how he wished he could be looking into his face right now. “I’d better keep you in check, then.”

“Looking forward to that, angel.”

And then, there was silence. Heavy, terrible silence.

Crowley clasped a hand over his mouth, as though he could somehow take that last word and push it to the back of his mind like it had never been spoken. Of course his brain had sabotaged him, he had gotten too distracted and lost control. Again. And to pile on that, he had _loved_ saying it. The endearment had felt warm and comforting on his tongue, had flown out of him like he’d always been meant to say it.

But Aziraphale didn’t know that. Aziraphale had only heard the guy that was supposed to write an article for him call him a blasted _angel._ He was suddenly very glad that he couldn’t see his face and the shocked look that he knew was stamped on it.

A few more heartbeats thundering in his ears and then he heard Aziraphale begin to say something. In a rush of panic, he blurted out, “Well, ehr, see you tomorrow then! Will, will text you the details later- no! Email them, yes email you the details. Yeah, alright, fine, bye.”

He interrupted the call and dropped the phone on the desk in one gesture. As he stared at the lit screen, still taunting him with the name ‘Aziraphale’ written in a large white font, he could almost feel his house plants looking down on him with a disapproving stare from the other room.

_That could have gone much fucking better._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're curious about the names I used for the magazine and the university, "Apollyon" is an ancient Greek word which is a synonym for Satan or the "arch-fiend". Elysium is the paradise in ancient Greek mythology to which heroes and worthy people are sent, a rough equivalent of Heaven. 
> 
> For those of you who haven't witnessed my not so nice tweets about the Archangels, the name Sandy Alfess is referred to Sandalfesso, my official nickname for Sandalphon ("fesso" means "stupid" in Italian) and proudest achievement. Gabriel's surname just suits him very well.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this first part! I can't promise you less blushing in the next ones because our boys have it way too bad, but I can promise a lot more of "angel". If you want to come and yell with me (or at me, whatever works for you), follow me on Twitter, @flamingbentley. I say Sandalfesso a lot.


	2. Woo Your Angel (And Be Wooed Back)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Crowley and Aziraphale go on what are popularly known as 'dates' but they pretend they're just the found-on-calendar kind. Or at least they try.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here I bring your second shot of pure and undiluted 100% fluff (No, I lied, there's also a tinge of "we'll call this anything in existence, as long as it isn't 'date'")
> 
> Attached with this come also my immense love and gratitude for Az (MrsCaulfield) who beta'd this chapter like a pro as soon as I threw it her way and dedicated her morning coffee time to it, which is the most sacred time of the day. She was the first one to get excited about this story when it was still just an idea, and it probably wouldn't have come out as fast if it hadn't been for her.

**February 8th - Monday**

It was perfectly normal to send out details for a meeting twice, wasn’t it?

Certainly it was, Crowley had been repeating himself for the past half hour while checking his phone over and over again, in the hopes that it would show him something different. But his phone didn’t know mercy and kept cruelly telling him that yes, he had just sent Aziraphale a text and then an email with the exact same information for their meeting that afternoon.

His hair was already sticking out in all directions but he ran a hand through it one more time for good measure as he recalled how long it had taken him to draft that first text. He had made sure that it sounded undeniably detached and professional, the best thing he could think of to cancel out the ‘angel’ that still taunted him from the previous day. He’d been quite proud of it too. At least, until he’d realised that he had told Aziraphale to wait for an email, not a text. It was at that point that panic had ensued, prompting him to do the least logical thing - he was getting genuinely concerned about his thought process lately - and send an email too.

He had just invited Aziraphale to a meeting twice over the course of five minutes. What a brilliant start of the day.

Crowley finally stopped tormenting his hair before red chunks of it could begin falling off, his hand sliding down to pinch the bridge of his nose. As he took one deep breath to regain focus, he decided that he was done looking at the phone. He was going to set it down on the desk and forget about it for the rest of the morning. Yes, that sounded sensible.

Suddenly the phone pinged once, then twice. He had it unlocked and in front of his face in barely a second, his eyes scanning the screen. He felt a flush running up his neck all the way to his cheeks when he realised what he’d just received. Aziraphale had replied to both the text and the email. He hadn’t joked about it, not even mentioned it in either of them. He had simply responded with the same level of enthusiasm to both invitations.

And his eyes couldn’t tear away from the ‘Dear Crowley’ at the start of each message, making his heart soar higher in his chest the longer he stared at it.

The word _angel_ was now a loud, lovely cry in Crowley’s head.

✦

Crowley knew he had chosen the perfect spot for their meeting - he desperately repressed the attempt by his brain to call it a ‘date’ - when he turned around to see Aziraphale standing behind him with a smile that could have easily put the Sun out of business. His windswept hair fell on his forehead in slightly messy locks and his cheeks were tinged with a bright red. Because of the wind, certainly. With his eyes shining as much as his smile, Aziraphale truly looked like a vision.

“Oh Crowley, this place is delightful! I’ve never been here before.”

Crowley couldn’t help the flare of pride at the enthusiasm in Aziraphale’s voice. He leaned forward to open the door in a wide gesture, sending a grin his way. “Allow me to properly introduce you to it, then.”

Aziraphale clasped his hands together as he walked in, eyes already wandering around to take in every detail. The flare in Crowley’s chest turned into an outright flame. He found himself very pleased to have chosen a bookshop cafe as their meeting spot, with walls of bookshelves breaking the place into small, quiet corners and offering as much reading material as there were pastries at the front counter. When they settled on a short wooden table comfortably planted into a corridor between two rows of books, the twinkle in Aziraphale’s eyes was the sweetest of sights.

After a few minutes, a waiter came around to take their order and threw a look their way that dangerously resembled veiled amusement - he dropped it very quickly when Crowley responded with an arched eyebrow of his own - but Aziraphale barely noticed as he turned to the side to inspect the books stacked on each shelf. He let his fingers run down the colourful spines, leaning back on his chair to peek at the ones on the higher brackets. Crowley was content with simply watching him, chin resting on his hand and a small fond smirk playing at his lips. His tablet and stylus, out for scarcely a minute, already laid forgotten.

“I wonder…” Aziraphale murmured, and his expression shifted slightly. He stood up and walked over to the shelf on the other side, now focusing more closely on the book titles. He bent down a little to reach the lower rows.

And, all of a sudden, Crowley wasn’t exactly staring at Aziraphale’s face anymore. From his position, it was easy to let his eyes roam down the curve of his back and his waist, appreciating the way the light waistcoat gently hugged his forms. It was even easier for his gaze to fall lower, all the way to his backside making a wonderful display of itself as he bent down a little further. Had Aziraphale not been so obviously engrossed with his search, Crowley would have thought he was doing it on purpose, his movements slow and enticing. His mouth had suddenly gone impossibly dry, and he really shouldn’t have been _looking_ , but telling that to himself made no difference whatsoever. And so, Crowley kept on looking, his hands closed into fists on the table.

With a swift motion, Aziraphale stood back up and Crowley finally, blessedly, _tragically_ looked away. He fixed his sunglasses further up the bridge of his nose with a gesture that was just a tinge too abrupt and decided to stand up, because that seemed better than staring awkwardly into any spot that didn’t have Aziraphale in it.

“Looking for something there?” He asked as he moved to stand behind him.

At the same time, Aziraphale exclaimed “Ha! Here it is!” and twirled on his feet with a book in hand.

Crowley wasn’t fast enough to take a step back - he briefly wondered whether his feet would have even accepted to take that step - and their faces halted a handful of centimetres away from each other. Aziraphale’s eyes had gone wide, two deep pools of clear sky speckled with a few shifting darker shades. For an interminable second, Crowley reflected on how it would feel to get lost in them only to then ask himself if maybe he hadn’t already. He found breathing a sudden hardship as he noticed Aziraphale’s lips parting ever so slightly. Was he staring down at _his_ , too?

“A hot chocolate and an espresso macchiato, sirs.”

Aziraphale all but jumped in place, clutching the book to his chest. “Th-thank you!”

Crowley shoved his hands as far as they would go down his pockets and walked back to his seat in what he hoped looked like a casual saunter. Except that the waiter’s small smile felt a little too meaningful when he said, “I hope you’re having a pleasant time here today.”

Crowley feared his own gaze might burn through his dark lenses. “Yeah, splendid. Thanks.”

“Very glad to hear that, sir.”

The man’s smirk could not disappear fast enough around the corner.

His attention was brought back when Aziraphale dropped the book he’d been holding on the table. Although this face appeared perfectly relaxed, his eyes seemed to dart around quite a lot, somehow always avoiding Crowley’s own, and his breathing sounded slightly labored as he spoke. “I wanted to show you this. I thought they might have it in here.”

Crowley looked more closely at its cover, a simple pale blue with the title pressed into it with golden letters, _Before Valentine’s Day_. He grimaced visibly. Even Hastur wouldn’t have let a title like that slide. He pointed a finger at it. “Now this could have used a much better editor.”

And just like that, Aziraphale’s face relaxed completely, and he sent the usual bright smile his way. He chucked light as he replied, “Well, yes, the title could have certainly done with some improvements at the time.” He tapped a finger on the cover. “But this is the work that inspired me to write my own book. I thought you might be interested in knowing about it.”

The tender curve that his smile had taken made a jolt of energy fly through Crowley. He let his sunglasses slip down a little and winked at him, “S’nother impressive historical insight, I take it?”

Aziraphale’s cheeks replicated the colour of the scarlet carpet under their feet with an impressive accuracy, and his mouth opened and closed a few times without making any sound. Crowley would have lied to himself if he’d said that the sight didn’t please him. He felt his grin grow bigger and bolder.

“Y-yes, it, uh,” Aziraphale’s voice finally came back. “It is an historical insight, all right. And a positively inaccurate one, if I may add.”

“So, you got inspired by an _inaccurate_ retelling of the history of Valentine’s Day?”

“The prose really is quite excellent,” Aziraphale’s voice managed to regain its usual tone. “And the style of exposition striking. But it is horribly riddled with errors, so I decided that it was about time to write a more reliable version of it.”

“That you certainly did, Aziraphale.” Another smile, another shaky breath from Aziraphale. Something stirred ever so pleasurably in his chest. Crowley turned the book over, and his gaze fell on the picture printed on the back of the cover. The author’s expression seemed much too close to the one he’d seen on that Sandy Alfess guy a few days prior, which meant that the picture had turned out really badly.

He raised the volume up to show it. “And you _certainly_ made a much better impression in your photo.”

Aziraphale loudly choked on the hot chocolate he had been sipping, his eyes widening. “It really wasn’t that good of a photo, Crowley.”

He didn’t even try to hold back the flashing grin on his face. “Oh, it really was.”

Aziraphale’s face fell serious, but when their gazes met, Crowley was surprised that the ardour in his eyes hadn’t already blown up a few lightbulbs.

Once the conversation took a more familiar turn - reverting back to Crowley asking questions he didn’t exactly need and Aziraphale replying with details that no author he’d ever dealt with would have ever shared with him - they both visibly relaxed on their chairs, leaning back and sipping on their drinks. Crowley even picked up his stylus to try and regain a semblance of professionality, although the broken sentences he took as notes insisted on undermining him. He eventually ended up waving it uselessly in the air to emphasise his points, which pulled several laughs out of Aziraphale. Well, maybe being undermined wasn’t so bad.

When he found that his repertoire of unnecessary questions had run dry, Crowley pointed the stylus at Aziraphale in a mockingly accusatory way. The angle of the other’s mouth quirked up in the most delightful way, and he silently thanked the stylus’s new purpose. “Then, what is your _actual_ take on modern Valentine’s Day?”

“Haven’t you already asked me that?”

“Not exactly. And you never really answered it, anyway.” He let his arms rest on the table, pulling himself closer. “So, what d’you think of the ‘celebration of romance and undying love’ spiel?”

Aziraphale smiled at him from the edge of the cup. “I take it you aren’t really a fan, Crowley.”

“M’not, in fact. It’s all a big pointless show for money to me. But,” He leaned over the table to tap the other’s chest with the pen. “I wanna know what _you_ think.”

Too late did he realise that the pen had lingered far too long for the movement to be a tap, instead pressing lightly on Aziraphale’s chest while he was still half-stretched over the table. Aziraphale’s eyes were fixed on it, looking shocked and pleased at the same time to have found it there.

“Uhm,” Crowley moved back and dropped the stylus on the table. “Might make a good insight for the, y’know, the article.”

Their hands had somehow fallen close, oh so very close to each other on the wooden surface. One tiny movement of his pinky finger to the side and he would have had it hooked around Aziraphale’s thumb. It nearly scared him how much he wanted to make that movement.

“I think,” the soft, _angelic_ \- he really had no other word for it - voice slowly brought him back, and he forced himself to look away. But neither of them pulled their hand back. “I think it is certainly exaggerated for commercial purposes. However,” his eyes silently dared Crowley to hold their stare, and he happily took the challenge. “I do love the idea of a day dedicated to the celebration of love, even if it is dramatically oversold everywhere. A day where small gestures mean more than usual and we remind ourselves of just why we love the person by our side that much. That’s surely worth something, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” He murmured, surprising even himself. That was something he had never thought he would agree on. “I s’pose it is.”

And then, he knew - he just _knew_ \- that the burning flame in his chest wasn’t about to go away neither soon nor easily. A smile from Aziraphale, a single gaze was enough to ignite it like a spark in a forest, in a way that he’d never known before. Part of him wanted to smack himself and yell that it was ridiculous to have lost his mind like that, that he only had a small window of time before he would have to deal with that flame on his own, because Aziraphale wasn’t staying. He was a nice vision that would last for a week or so before Crowley would be hurled back to his usual routine. And all he would leave behind was going to be a name in an article.

And yet, as long as Aziraphale was smiling that brightly, none of that mattered one bit to him. His mind ever dared to hope that maybe he might even stretch that window a little longer. He was sure as hell going to try.

“Wanna go for a walk?” He asked, shooting a look over the rim of his sunglasses.

Aziraphale immediately began to stand up, then blushed lightly at his own enthusiasm. “I would love that.”

He couldn’t stop grinning. “Don’t leave without me.”

✦

Crowley had always hated how some streets in London would turn into proper rivers after a heavy rain, with rivulets of water running down the sides and forming as many puddles as one road could physically manage. They were cleverly laid traps for all shoes and trouser hems unfortunate enough to step into them, and they owed him more than one pair of dress shoes.

But, even though his and Aziraphale’s feet were now leaving a trail of squishy watery sounds behind them - clear indication that they had just about walked into all of the puddles on their path - he could not be bothered to look down to check for any inconvenient stain. Aziraphale’s hair kept shifting back and forth with each gust of wind in a mesmerizing way, and his slightly flushed face made for the warmest presence he could ever ask for. He had the vivid impression that they had moved closer to each other while walking, although neither of them had said a word about it. Their shoulders were mere centimetres apart, and he was surprised - or disappointed, his brain supplied cruelly - that they hadn’t brushed yet.

Then, a group of kids chased by a panting and quite exasperated woman came running towards them, and Aziraphale was forced to sidestep widely to avoid being almost trampled over. As he did so, their shoulders did indeed brush before a whole Aziraphale came bumping into him with one abrupt motion. For a few seconds, they were pressed against one another, and Crowley was acutely aware that the side of his hips was in full contact with the small of Aziraphale’s back. Their hands remained squeezed between their bodies until Aziraphale took a step back, a sharp invisible hook taking residency in Crowley’s gut when he felt the touch slip away. He nearly had to grab his own arm to stop it from stretching forward in chase of the contact.

“Oh, I’m so sorry about that!” Aziraphale exclaimed a tinge too loudly as a violent scarlet shade took over his features.

Sparks were flying through Crowley’s body, and he had to shrug his shoulders to get rid of the feeling. “Nothing to be sorry about, Aziraphale.”

The other was about to say something when a sudden thought seemed to strike him, leaving him silent. He cocked his head to the side, giving him a playful smile. “If I recall correctly, you called me something else on the phone yesterday.”

Crowley nearly tripped over his own feet at that. Was he really bringing it up _now_? A very eloquent “Ngk” escaped him before he picked up the pace, hoping to somehow outrun the conversation. But Aziraphale was fast on his feet, and he heard him follow with ease. He didn’t need to look up to know that his smirk had just gotten wider. Finally, he mumbled, “Don’t remember.”

“Oh no, I’m quite certain you did. What was it, again? It sounded rather sweet.”

He stopped dead in his tracks at that and turned to the side with a wide-eyed stare. “You thought it was _sweet_?”

Aziraphale had his hands clasped in front of him in an apparently relaxed gesture, but the glint in his eyes assured Crowley that this was far from an innocent question. He was obviously enjoying this. “Yes, I rather thought so. Would you mind refreshing my memory?”

Who knew that Aziraphale could be such a bastard? His raised eyebrows did a terrible job of hiding his amusement, and the sight of his small smirk, so different from his usual softer smile, made Crowley’s throat clog up. Oh, but he knew how to play this game too. He flashed a grin of his own and resumed walking, his pace slower this time. “Hmm, don’t think I will. You’re having too much fun with this.”

Aziraphale rushed after him, a giggle echoing down the empty street. “Oh please, won’t you do me the favour of repeating it for me?”

Crowley glanced at him to see him pouting, actually _pouting_ , his mouth arched slightly downward in the most adorable way. It made his cheeks fuller and his eyes wider, and he wouldn’t have been surprised one bit to see this scene replicated on a painting. Hell, that was just not fair. He returned his gaze to the pavement and muttered, “‘Ngel.”

“What was that, dear?”

He tried to throw Aziraphale a dirty look, but he had the impression that it had turned into a fond one by the time it reached his eyes. “It was _angel_.”

The smile breaking through Aziraphale’s pout was all light and glee. “That’s the one!”

 _As if you didn’t know_ , Crowley thought silently, but his own grin got wider nonetheless.

“Now,” Aziraphale continued. “Is that because of my name? Because I told you that it’s the name of an angel?”

Crowley stared at him for a long while, his heart beating a relentless rhythm in his chest as he wondered what it would feel like to reply honestly. To look him in the eye and say _No. It’s because you have this air about you of total and complete grace. It’s because you smile like a summer day and laugh like a choir of bells. Your hair just won’t stop forming that bloody halo around your face, and your name sounds like an honest-to-someone prayer. And that prayer I really wouldn’t mind saying every day._

“Yes?” He replied, hating how uncertain his voice sounded.

“I thought so.” Aziraphale didn’t seem to notice just how much he hadn’t said. “I like it.”

Crowley stopped walking again, taken aback. “Really? You do?”

“Very much so.”

He took a step forward, abruptly bringing their faces closer, so close that Crowley could feel his shaky breath on his cheeks. Aziraphale had an unreadable expression on, but his eyes were open and clear and so achingly easy to read. He could have sworn that they were looking at him with the same gleam of wonder and utter joy that they’d reserved for the rows of books in the cafe. Being the object of that look made a shiver run down his spine, and he felt as though his feet weren’t quite touching the ground anymore.

Then, Aziraphale’s gaze shifted down like it had done only a few hours prior in the cafe, and this time Crowley _knew_ that he was looking at his lips, studying them. He inhaled sharply when their hands brushed against each other and stayed like that, sparks erupting from the point where they gently touched. Suddenly, Aziraphale was looking up at him again, and he needed no words from him to know exactly what he was thinking. It was the same thought he had been having since the angel had first smiled at him that afternoon.

He wrapped his fingers around Aziraphale’s hand to pull it closer, and began to lean down. It almost felt like a dream to slowly bring his own face closer, to look at those angel eyes and mouth, and…

A shrill ring filled the air around them, and Aziraphale jumped back in surprise. The hook in Crowley’s gut made itself known again, as his hand slipped away from his hold. He dug in his pocket and produced a small phone - one that could almost be considered a smartphone if he ignored the bulky design and squinted at it - his face twisting into a grimace when he looked at the screen.

He sent Crowley a mortified look. “I’m terribly sorry, I have to take this.”

Crowley nodded at him, and he answered the call with a cold voice. “Hello, Gabriel.”

Of course. Only that prick could manage to have such bad timing.

“Well, actually, I’m quite busy right now with- with something important.” Aziraphale continued to speak into the phone. “Couldn’t someone else in the department take it? I-”

He stopped mid-sentence, clearly having been interrupted by the voice on the other end. Crowley’s eyebrows drew together, and a spark of anger ignited inside him. How tempting it was to take the phone from his hands and tell Gabriel to stick whatever task he was forcing onto Aziraphale down the most inconvenient of places. But this was Aziraphale’s life, and he had no right to have a say in it. The thought hurt more than he’d expected.

After a couple more quick exchanges and sentences that he never got to finish, Aziraphale hung up and sent him a pained look. “Apparently, something came up and I’ll have to give Dr. Alfess’s lecture tomorrow. I- I’m going to have to put together some material before tomorrow morning. I’m afraid I have to go.”

“Did they really just spring this up on you in the evening without any notice?” Crowley had already formed an opinion on what kind of environment Aziraphale might find himself in at work, but this was beyond what he’d imagined.

“It’s an emergency.” Aziraphale said quietly, and it sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than Crowley. “I really am terribly sorry, Crowley. But I have to do this.”

He sent Aziraphale a weak smile, the best he could gather at the moment. “You don’t need to apologise. I won’t keep you if you need to go.”

He watched as Aziraphale began to move away, taking a few steps backwards on the pavement. He seemed unwilling to turn away, and the sight made Crowley’s heart ache.

“Have a good night, Crowley.” He smiled a little, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I can’t wait to see your article.”

Right, the article. For a while, he’d forgotten that was the only reason for the both of them to be there.

“Good night.” He sent him one last long look before adding, “Angel.”

And then, he was turning around without waiting to see the effect that the word would have on Aziraphale. He walked with fast and heavy steps, uncaring of the wind or the water splashing at his feet, and wondered what the hell he was supposed to do with all that jumble of warm feelings in his chest.

His steps echoed in the empty street where there were no other angels in sight.

**February 12th - Friday**

Crowley had never thought that he would hate for his phone to be as silent as it was now. Since he’d started working at Apollyon Review, it had sustained a constant concert of calls and messages, most of them from whichever highly demanding author he had been working with at the time. But now that it sat quiet and still on his desk, he couldn’t bear the silence.

He tried to pretend that he simply wasn’t used to it, but he knew that the real reason was the lack of calls from the one person he truly wanted to talk to. He had thought about calling Aziraphale himself - had come very close to it several times, in fact - but the last comment he’d heard from him about the review had given him the awful feeling that Aziraphale might consider that the only reason worth seeing him again. And he was fresh out of those kinds of excuses to prompt a phone call out of the blue.

So, he had waited. And the past three days had brought exactly zero phone calls from the semi-smartphone he was hoping, which really shouldn’t have been in commerce anymore, and exactly one text from Beez on Wednesday, right before he had headed out to work. Further proof that they had definitely figured out his schedule.

The text had read, _I’d ask for your progress on the review, but I don’t want to read it before I absolutely have to. You better finish it on time for your own sake, though._

At that, he had replied, _You do know you can threaten me in person, right?_ , for which he had gotten a nice, _Not my fucking job._

He had gotten worryingly good at evading any question about the review lately, always acting as though he were one paragraph away from finishing it. And if one paragraph away meant that he had barely been able to get halfway through it, then it was a fairly accurate estimate. It did not matter how much time he spent staring at the computer screen, writing and deleting sentences over and over; as soon as he tried to rewrite anything from his notes, he was immediately reminded of Aziraphale. Aziraphale smiling and giggling in his office, Aziraphale talking animatedly under the dim golden lights of the cafe, Aziraphale looking up at him and standing so, so close. At that point, he had no other choice but close the document and pace around his office in long, frustrated strides.

Reading Aziraphale’s book was even more difficult, with the elegant and captivating writing style so obviously sounding like him that it felt like a punch to the gut. He hadn’t set it down on the usual shelf though, he didn’t seem to be able to move it away from his nightstand. So, the book sat there, a silent presence each night, quietly taunting him with Aziraphale’s name.

And now, it still kept on taunting him from the passenger seat in his car. Crowley had decided to bring it along as an additional help in writing the article, hoping that a few passages from it might help him get over his writing block. It was the oldest trick in the book and one he hadn’t needed for years, but it was preferable to having to tell Beez that he hadn’t finished his work on time.

Just as his gaze fell on the name on the cover _again_ , the loud ringing and buzzing from his phone startled him. He stretched his neck to look at the screen, ready to ignore what he was sure to be a call from someone in the office reminding him once more that his review still needed editing. A few cars outside blew their horns at him as he zoomed past them, but he paid them no mind. Finally, he managed to get a good look at the phone screen, and his foot very nearly stomped on the brake pedal out of surprise.

Aziraphale. Aziraphale was calling.

His heart seemed to be unsure on whether it should jump up to his throat or fall all the way to his stomach. It ended up doing both. Crowley swerved off to the side of the road with one sharp turn of the wheel, which gained him another concert of infuriated honks. He barely even heard them as he hurried to grab the phone in his hands.

He couldn’t remember another call he’d answered as fast. “Hello?”

“Hello, Crowley.” He didn’t even try to fight the instant smile that Aziraphale’s voice brought to his face.

“Hey an- Aziraphale!” He fumbled to correct himself, a silent string of curses unwrapping in his head.

Aziraphale took on an amused tone, as he asked, “Was that ‘angel’ you were about to say?”

“Sure wasn’t.”

The small chuckle on the other end really did sound heavenly.

“Listen,” Aziraphale continued. “Are you busy this afternoon?”

Crowley held his breath, his fingers closing more tightly around the phone. “I’ll just be finishing up the last touches to the review. Y’know, your review.”

The book silently glared at him from the other seat. _Last touches, uh?_

“Oh, jolly good. I was hoping to chat with you about the book.”

Crowley’s eyebrows shot up. “What about it? Are there any problems?”

“No! Not one problem!” Aziraphale’s eagerness to reply pulled a smirk out of him, and he felt a flare of satisfaction in his chest. “I am positively thrilled to see your piece on it.”

He hesitated a few seconds before speaking again, “But I would like to speak with you about it in person, if you don’t mind. Could I, uhm, come over by your office? I’ll be gone in a zippy.”

“A zippy?” If possible, Crowley’s grin grew even wider. With anyone else, he would have probably grimaced at words like ‘zippy’ and ‘jolly good’. But, coming from Aziraphale, they sounded almost endearing.

“Yes, I shan’t prolong my stay too long.”

 _You can prolong your stay as much as you want,_ he thought. And with that thought came another one. He held onto it before he could change his mind. “I won’t be in my office this afternoon.”

“Oh.”

He took a deep breath. “But you could come to my place, if you’d like.”

The silence that followed hung heavy over him, as he waited for a reply. He imagined all the kinds of answers that Aziraphale might give him, and a lot he didn’t like. But he found that he didn’t regret asking, not one bit. His fingers were so tight around the phone that he was surprised it hadn’t shattered yet. More seconds ticked by, and he had never hated silence more.

“Yes,” Aziraphale’s voice suddenly rose again from the speaker. “Yes, I-I’d like that.”

Crowley could barely hear his own words over the furious beating of his heart in his ears, but he could feel his lips tug back up into an incredulous smile. “Then, I’ll send you the address, angel.” He didn’t take back this one.

Aziraphale sounded like he was doing quite a lot of smiling himself. “Tip-top.”

Crowley had never been happier to hear a ‘tip-top’ in his life.

✦

Aziraphale had been in the flat for nearly thirty minutes, and Crowley was getting less and less sure that he’d ever actually had anything to discuss. Not that he minded at all the idea that Aziraphale might have used the book as an excuse to see him.

When he had asked him about it, he had blurted out, “It’s all resolved now!”

Crowley had raised an eyebrow in confusion. “You resolved whatever it was in a matter of half a day?”

His voice had gone up a full octave at that point. “I’ll have you know that my problem-solving skills are quite efficient.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it, angel.” Crowley had enjoyed immensely seeing him get flustered at the word, shuffling on his feet. He had decided very quickly to slip it in as much as possible.

Soon after that, Aziraphale’s eye had gotten caught by the house plants peeking from the other room, and he had spent a solid ten minutes gushing over them.

“Oh Crowley, these are absolutely wonderful!” His eyes had shone brightly under the late afternoon sunlight streaming from the window. “You must take such good care of them! Look at their colours.”

“Well, I try my best.” He had mumbled, trying to ignore the spark running down his spine at the praise while at the same time sending a warning look to the plants.

Once Aziraphale had been out of the room, he’d turned around long enough to point a finger and hiss, “What he said means nothing. I see one spot tomorrow, and it’ll be hell.”

Now, he and Aziraphale were sitting down on the sofa in his living room, two chalices of red wine sitting on the small glass table in front of them. They had both agreed that it was late enough in the afternoon to warrant a nice bottle of wine without the accompanying guilt of day-drinking. They had fallen into a casual conversation that had them smiling and laughing with glee, both of them wholeheartedly enjoying the other’s stories. Crowley found himself basking in Aziraphale’s voice, wishing that he never had to stop hearing it.

“So, have you always had an interest in book reviewing?” Aziraphale asked, bringing the half-empty glass of wine to his lips. Crowley followed the movement closely behind the safety of his dark lenses.

“Not exactly. Never really thought that working with books was gonna be ideal,” He gestured vaguely at his sunglasses. Aziraphale sent him a small smile and, again, he didn’t pry. It made the flame in his chest burn a little warmer. “But I can be very convincing, which has served me well.”

Aziraphale sent him a long look from above the rim of the wine glass. “That you certainly are, dear.”

Crowley flashed a smirk back before it could turn into a dumbfounded smile upon hearing that. “And how about you? Happy with your job?”

He knew Aziraphale wasn’t. He had noticed the way he visibly tensed around Gabriel, his face freezing into a mask to protect himself, and the pained expression on his face during the entire phone call the other night. It wasn’t difficult to see what the other members of the faculty at that university thought of him, and it made Crowley furious. But he had also seen Aziraphale’s face light up as he talked about the research he’d done for the book and speak of his students with utter fondness in his voice.

“Yes,” he replied quietly, and Crowley had the impression that he hadn’t managed to convince even himself. “I, I suppose I am. I do love teaching, and doing some research of my own recently has been wonderful. Although…”

His voice trailed off at that, and Crowley gently asked. “What is it, angel?”

He was pleased to see that the word still elicited an involuntary smile from Aziraphale. He waited a moment before finishing the sentence. “Although, I’ve always had this idea. More like a dream, really. That I would eventually stop teaching and open my own bookshop, a place where I could collect as many books as I could fit in it and make my own.” His eyes looked slightly lost, as though he were picturing it in front of him. Then, he shook his head. “You’ll think it is very silly.”

“I think it’s brilliant.” Crowley leaned forward to rest his forearms on his knees, looking at him intently. “It suits you.”

Aziraphale laughed a little. “You- You think so?”

“I do. Are you actually gonna do it?”

“Oh no, I don’t think so,” there was a dejected edge to his voice now. “I wouldn’t even know where to start. It’s probably best I stay where I am.”

Before Crowley could have a chance to reply, he quickly added, “And I do have another thing to discuss about the book!”

Crowley desperately wanted to go back to the topic and tell Aziraphale that he could do anything he dreamed of, that he was allowed to find a different way to be happy, that he didn’t need to stay put if he didn’t want to. He wanted to grab his hands and say that if there was one person who could make a bookshop out of nowhere and turn it into the best one of its kind, it was him. But Aziraphale had never pried or insisted with him, not ever forcing him to talk about something he didn’t feel comfortable with. And he was firmly set on returning the favour. So, he mustered up a smile and said, “Do you, now?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale’s face was beaming again as he pointed at Crowley’s copy of his own book, sitting on the table. “Have you finished reading it?”

“Not yet,” he admitted with a frown. “It’s gotten a bit harder, lately. Haven’t been able to do much reading.”

“Would you like me to read it to you?”

Crowley froze in place suddenly, the hand holding the chalice stopping before it could reach his mouth. He sent Aziraphale an incredulous look, convinced that he must have heard that wrong. “What?”

The light blush on Aziraphale’s cheeks did not escape his eye. “Well, I thought that if you liked it but couldn’t finish it on your own, I could, uhm, give you a hand. I’ve been told that I have a quite pleasant reading voice.” He sent him an uncertain look. “That is, if you do like it, of course.”

Crowley’s brain still hadn’t managed to unfreeze completely, lost as it was in the tenderness of Aziraphale’s voice as he had suggested it. It almost scared him how much he wanted to agree to it, to listen to Aziraphale reading his own words in that angelic way of his, for his ears and his ears only. His tone dropped low as he replied, “I do like it, Aziraphale, I like it a lot. But you really don’t have to feel obligated to do this. You know I can write the review without-”

“It’s, it’s not for the review.” The hope in Aziraphale’s eyes was so open, so obvious that it made his heart stir in his chest. “This is just for _you_. If you want.”

They held a long, silent gaze between them until Crowley nodded and Aziraphale’s face glowed with his brightest smile. And then, Crowley knew. He knew that Aziraphale had come to his place that afternoon with no reason other than wanting to see him. He knew that he didn’t need to be afraid of him fading into a memory once the review would be done and published. He knew he had time, time to spend with Aziraphale and know him and hear him laugh a hundred more times.

So, he leaned back on the sofa, tilting his body sideways to let his right arm settle on the armrest. Then, slowly and carefully, he slipped off his sunglasses and set them down next to him. The weak light still streaming from the windows made him squint slightly in pain but seeing Aziraphale without the barrier of the dark lenses was more than worth it. Aziraphale’s eyes were fixed on his, wide open in surprise and what looked like awe.

“You have the loveliest eyes, Crowley.” He murmured.

Crowley did a very poor job at reining in the flush that he could feel creeping up his face, as he averted his gaze, muttering, “Thought you were gonna read, angel.”

“Yes, yes, of course.” He chuckled lightly and opened the book in his lap.

The rest of the afternoon went by with Aziraphale reading the words he’d composed himself and Crowley listening so closely to get lost in the narration. The sentences flew out of Aziraphale’s mouth with ease, his voice spelling out each of them clearly so he could follow along but never losing the train of thought. They took on new life as he read and pronounced them out loud, and Crowley barely even realised that sometime through it his eyelids had closed, leaving only his ears to focus on the soft and rhythmic voice echoing through the flat. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so peaceful and so very, undeniably _happy_.

Eventually, once the day turned into evening, Aziraphale had to stop reading and stand up, getting ready to leave. He laughed a little when Crowley groggily reopened his eyes and tried to get up, wobbling slightly on his feet. He felt a tinge of pain at having to open the door for Aziraphale again, this time to let him leave. But now he didn’t have to wonder whether this would be the first and last time he would get to do that, and the thought made something warm stir in his chest.

And then, once again, they were standing much too close to each other on the doorstep, with Aziraphale having one foot on either side of the threshold. Crowley could tell that both of them were holding their breath, frozen in place as if their feet were planted into the ground. He only needed to lean in a little, pull Aziraphale’s face closer until their lips could meet in the middle. He only needed a second, one more second. But the second stretched on a little too long, and eventually Aziraphale’s foot joined the other one on the other side of the doorstep. His face was clearly flushed and his eyes heavy-lidded, but he still sent him a smile, glinting in the semi-darkness of the hall, as he bid him good-bye and turned around.

And Crowley was left standing on his doorstep, wondering how in the hell it was possible that he still hadn’t kissed his angel. But it didn’t matter, he thought while closing the door quietly, because now he knew he could try again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you had voted for the "I bet they'll kiss" party, I'm very sorry to disappoint. But I'm going to leak some information and tell you that your odds are looking very good for next chapter, fellas.
> 
> Also, if you've never tried an espresso macchiato, for the love of someone, pull a Crowley and get yourself one! You won't regret it, guaranteed.


	3. Hold Your Angel Tight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Crowley and Aziraphale make a run for it and finally go on what they can both call a proper 'date', with all its accompanying pleasures.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here I offer you the final part of the story, complete with Valentine's Day brand of fluff, actual proper dates and just a tinge of sweet revenge. 
> 
> A huge thank you to everyone who's been reading and keeping up with this story, I'm so glad you decided to follow these two frustratingly enamoured lover boys along with me. I hope this final chapter will be worth all the frustration. And an even bigger thank you to Az (MrsCaulfield) for once again proving that she's the fastest beta reader out there. You can thank her if you have the chance to get your hands on this today.

**February 14th - Sunday**

Walking up the steps of Elysium University was a much more pleasant experience the second time around, thought Crowley. For one thing, there was no Sandy Alfess complaining loudly by the door, which was a big improvement in and of itself. For another, a brand new copy of Apollyon Review was held tightly in his hand, a very familiar name displayed right below the main title. And this time, he knew where he was going.

His steps echoed loudly down the empty corridor - the same one he had crossed with a scowl on his face only the week before - as he twisted the rolled up magazine in his hands. Getting his finished review in there had been a whole miracle on its own. He had finally been able to sit down to finish it after Aziraphale had left his flat on Friday - he was convinced that part of that sudden inspiration had been fueled by sheer frustration, but he refused to dwell on it. He had sent it in an email to Beez as Friday night had started to dangerously border into Saturday, but he had managed to beat them to it before they could send a message that would seal his career shut. And since there had been nobody to see, he had smiled at himself while rereading the most honest article he had probably ever written. There had been no need for exaggerated metaphors or wild paraphrasing of passages from the book in an attempt to make them sound more appealing. The memory of Aziraphale’s voice reading his own words aloud to him in the peaceful silence of the late afternoon had been all he’d needed to paint a captivating picture of the book.

On the other hand, buying an actual copy of the issue that morning had been a much more difficult task than he’d anticipated. The owner of the newsstand he’d stopped at had been hellbent on engaging him into a vivacious conversation on how the quality of recent publications had plummeted to the ground. Crowley’s raised eyebrow should really have been an indication for him to drop the subject, but he’d continued excitedly, his hands waving around in wide circles. At least, until he’d exclaimed, “Like that, that one!” He’d pointed a finger at the copy of Apollyon Review in Crowley’s hand, straight to the minor title referring to the article on Aziraphale’s book. “Oh, I bet that one’s full of bollocks! All them reviews are, I tell ya.”

Crowley’s mouth had stretched into a thin cruel smirk. “Might wanna say that to someone who hasn’t written the article next time.”

The expression on the man’s face had been a wonderful start to his day.

Now, as he turned around a corner, he spotted Aziraphale’s office, the silver plaque glinting under the sunlight from the windows. He smiled widely. He had initially been shocked to learn that Aziraphale was spending his Sunday morning at work when he’d called him on the phone earlier that day, and he had insisted on making sure that it wasn’t an imposition by the Wonder Team of Academic Nuisances - although he hadn’t actually referred to his colleagues that way out loud. Yet.

Then, he had said, “I’ve got something to show you.”

And Aziraphale had said, “You wouldn’t want to keep me company in my office then, would you?”

So, there he was. He only needed to knock on the door once before it swung wide open, Aziraphale standing in front of him bathed in sunlight. He smiled, and suddenly Crowley was having the best day he could wish for. “Hello, Crowley.”

He sent him a grin back as he walked in, their arms brushing along the way. “Hello yourself, angel. Wanna tell me why you’re spending the morning _here_?”

Aziraphale waved his hand in the general direction of his desk. “I’ve just got some work to finish, and this is as good a time to do it as any.” Then, he turned his gaze to him, eyes glinting excitedly. “So, what were you going to show me?”

“Oh, s’nothing important,” Crowley twirled the magazine around in his hand, careful not to let Aziraphale read the cover. “Just thought you might be interested in an article here.”

Aziraphale’s eyes lit up, and it took all of his concentration not to fall right into them. “Is that your magazine? Is the review out?” He reached for the hand holding it, but Crowley drew it back in a flash, just a span out of his reach, a smirk playing on his face.

“It seems you’ve made the front page, Aziraphale.” He let the pages unfold so the cover could be visible. Aziraphale’s mouth stretched into a smile that mirrored his own, and he made another attempt to grab it. Crowley moved back a few steps this time, once again snatching the magazine away. “Oh, quite impatient, aren’t you?”

“You snake.” Aziraphale’s eyebrows shot up in a pretence of annoyance, but the smirk still stamped on his face betrayed him. Crowley let his sunglasses slide down the bridge of his nose and sent him a wink - he tried very hard not to focus on the violent flush running up the other’s face - then, he enunciated, reading from the page, “‘A.Z. Fell and his _Hidden Face of Valentine_ are indeed the hidden gem you’ve been looking for’. Very fitting, if you ask me.”

Aziraphale was nearly glowing in delight. “Oh that’s, that’s much too kind. I don’t know what to say.”

“It’s only true.” His own smile softened as he said it. “Wanna hear the whole review?”

“I’d love nothing more.”

Crowley had to clear his voice before speaking again, his eyes fixed on Aziraphale. “Well then, get comfortable. You should know that this is some of my best work.”

Aziraphale jokingly rolled his eyes and extended his hand to be given the magazine. When Crowley didn’t move, he sent him a quizzical look. “Aren’t you going to let me read it?”

“No,” he knew he was doing a terrible job at hiding just how much he was enjoying this, Aziraphale’s responses to his teasing making hot sparks run through his body. “ _I_ will be the one doing the reading. Thought it was about time to return the favour.”

An enticed glint flashed in Aziraphale’s eyes, although his face wore an hesitant expression. “Are you sure, dear?”

“Take a seat, angel.”

Without another word, Aziraphale walked up to the window to pull down the blinds all the way. The light in the room was reduced to a faint warm shade, and Crowley’s eyes barely needed to adjust when he pulled up his sunglasses to rest on his head. Then, Aziraphale simply leaned against the edge of his desk and crossed his hands on his stomach, looking at Crowley as though he’d just done the most obvious of things. Fully unaware that that simple gesture had sent his heart on a frenzy, exactly because it had been quiet and natural. As if it were only the last one of a lifetime of Aziraphale closing blinds and turning down lights just for him. He found himself hoping that it might be the first.

And, with that thought in mind, he began reading, the shadow of a smile on his lips even as he intoned the words out loud. It took only a few sentences to realise that Aziraphale was watching him closely, even more than he’d expected, clear eyes following his every movement before inevitably falling back on his face. His mouth curved into a deeper grin as he began moving around the room, pacing back and forth and performing semi-circles around the angel. Aziraphale giggled in amusement and mumbled what sounded a lot like, “Show-off.”

Crowley put a hand on his chest in an overly dramatic gesture. “ _This_ is what I get for giving you an entertaining listening experience? Should probably just stop, then.”

“Oh dear, please don’t!” Aziraphale mockingly begged, a beam widening on his face. “I promise I won’t interrupt you again.”

He leaned forward, bringing their faces closer. “Alright. Since you asked so nicely, angel.”

They stood staring at each other for just a bit longer than necessary, until Aziraphale looked away in what failed to appear like a casual way and Crowley snapped back. He cleared his throat, but his voice still cracked ever so slightly as he resumed reading.

He kept on walking back and forth down the length of the room, delivering each sentence in a solemn tone that pulled a few more laughs out of Aziraphale. A pleasant feeling stirred in his chest at that, and he thought that he would have gladly read a dozen more articles for him, headaches be damned. His voice swiftly flew through the first part of the review, and the appreciative smile on Aziraphale’s face made him glad to have painted such a precise picture of the book.

Then, he reached the second half of it - the part where he always outlined his impression of the work he was reviewing, the part where he supposedly explained its true value and, this time, the one he could read in all honesty. His voice dropped lower, and, as the words rolled out of his mouth, he noticed Aziraphale’s smile melting into a wide-eyed stare. He looked at Crowley as though he had just told him the most shocking news, his knuckles having gone white from gripping the edge of the desk too hard.

But Crowley didn’t stop reading, his voice unwavering. He had written those words with Aziraphale in mind, and he was hellbent on making him hear every single one of them. He _deserved_ to hear them. And something about his expression told him that this might have just been the first time he’d heard a genuine opinion on his work. So, he kept reading.

Once he stopped, the silence that followed hung heavy over them. His eyes met Aziraphale’s wide and astonished ones, the clear irises seemingly shifting between shades under the dim light streaming from the cracks in the blinds. Finally, heaving a somewhat shaky breath, he broke the silence. “That- That was a beautiful article, Crowley.”

“Glad you think so,” his eyes were fixed on the angel’s face. “I meant every word.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale managed a bent smile. “No ‘flourishing’ of words, then?”

Crowley chuckled as he recognised Gabriel’s poor choice of words, but his voice was serious as he replied, “No. Not this time.”

Aziraphale stepped closer to place a hand on Crowley’s arm, squeezing lightly. “Thank you.”

The touch burned like a flame even through the layers of clothes, sending blazing flares through his whole arm. He had to stop himself from inhaling sharply in surprise, his gaze falling instantly on Aziraphale’s fingers unequivocally wrapped around it, just tight enough to make their presence known. Slowly, he brought up his own hand to cover the one already there, the tips of his fingers hooking around the edge of the palm. He pressed gently into it, and it felt like pure bliss.

“No need to thank me, Aziraphale.” He raised his eyes to his face just as the other’s gaze shot back up, meeting each other in the middle.

It took Crowley a whole millisecond to make a decision, while he could still hold onto the angel’s wam hand. “What are you doing tonight?”

Aziraphale let the hand slip away from his hold, the spot on his arm where it had been sitting suddenly feeling much too cold for his liking. But his attention was pulled away from it in an instant at the reply, “Tonight? On Valentine’s Day?”

Aziraphale’s mouth stretched out into a grin, and it twinkled delightfully in the shade of the room. “Oh, I’m afraid I find myself rather unoccupied.”

“Well, we can’t have that,” Crowley sent him a devilish smirk in return. “Allow me to occupy it for you?”

Aziraphale’s grin slowly shifted into a beaming smile as he uttered, “I could never refuse such an offer.”

Crowley knew that his own face had broken out into a dopey expression of his own, and he couldn’t find it in himself to care one bit. Because it was Valentine’s Day and, for once, he didn’t want to scoff or grimace at the idea. For once, there was absolutely no other place he’d rather be than in Aziraphale’s semi-dark office as they grinned madly at each other. His hand moved slowly towards the angel’s, their fingertips a breath away from each other.

Then, the door slammed open. _Again._

He retracted his hand in a snap and turned around, while he vowed to himself to never set foot in that office again unless he could nail the door shut behind him. On the threshold stood Dr. Sandy Alfess, his rigid posture making him once again look like a garden statue that somebody had dropped there in a hurry.

He intoned in a deadpan voice, “I passed by to remind you about tonight, Aziraphale.”

Then, he turned to Crowley as if only now noticing his presence. “Mr. Crowley,” he said in what Crowley could only assume was his surprised voice.

“Yeah, hello.” He made no effort to hide his annoyance at having been interrupted.

Aziraphale’s confused voice interrupted them, “T-tonight? What would that be?”

Alfess sent him a cold look that made Crowley want to not so gently lead him out of the room. “You don’t know? Gabriel should have told you. An event will be hosted at the university to promote the book, all faculty required to attend.”

Crowley didn’t miss that Alfess had purposely omitted to say ‘your book’, as though whatever success was about to come along with it wouldn’t be Aziraphale’s own achievement anymore. He felt a spike of anger rising in his chest.

Aziraphale’s eyebrows had furrowed further. “It will be hosted _tonight_? Isn’t that a tad too soon, considering that a review of it has just been published today?” He sent a quick look Crowley's way.

“Can never be too soon,” Sandy Alfess formed a rigid, toothed smile. “Better to strike the iron while it’s hot. More popularity for the book means more visibility for the school.”

Crowley could hardly believe how quickly Aziraphale’s colleagues had taken the entirety of his work from his hands, turning it into their own race for prestige. He nearly hissed as he interjected, “Shouldn’t it be up to Aziraphale to decide how he wants to promote _his_ book?”

Alfess’s smile froze in place, his golden tooth glinting dully. “We thought it best to take this burden off of him.”

Without giving either of them the chance to reply, he turned around and walked out of the door after throwing a, “We will expect to see you there, Aziraphale” over his shoulder.

Then, the two of them were once again alone in this office, but the silence now felt like a heavy weight over them.

An invisible grip tightened around Crowley’s chest at the sight of the expression on Aziraphale’s face, a mixture of confusion and tacit anger. He kept his voice low as he spoke, “They shouldn’t get to make those decisions for you. The book is _yours_ , your work. You shouldn’t be forced into anything on the account of it.”

“I don’t care much for that,” Aziraphale replied, although his face said otherwise. He looked up to meet Crowley’s gaze, “I just- I’m really sorry Crowley, I didn’t know anything about tonight. Or, or I wouldn’t have-”

“Stop.” Crowley’s voice resonated loudly in the small room as he closed the distance between them, putting both his hands on Aziraphale’s shoulders. He felt the other tense under his touch but neither of them made a move to step back. “I don’t want to hear you apologise. This is not your fault, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale tried to smile but it came out looking a lot more like a painful grimace. “But we- we had made plans.”

Crowley gently squeezed his shoulders, trying to ignore the bitter taste in his mouth. “We’ll have plenty of time to make other plans, angel.”

He mustered up a smile, but he knew it wasn’t quite as bright as he wanted it to be.

✦

Crowley had had a whole silent ride back to his flat to convince himself that he didn’t mind having to give up on a date with Aziraphale for one night. He’d even had a painfully long lift ride up to his floor, in which he’d repeated to himself that everything was just fine. As he had unlocked his front door, he’d thought, _Stop thinking about it._

Now that he was sitting at his desk, twirling in his hand the stem of a wine glass, he was not only still thinking about it but also firmly set on minding it very much. The image of Aziraphale’s pained expression as they’d said goodbye on the doorstep of the main entrance was fixed in his mind. He had tried his best to appear unbothered, wishing Crowley a safe drive back with a smile and a gentle hand on his elbow, but the tense lines on his face had made it obvious how much he was dreading that night. Crowley had desperately wanted to ask him to come with him, to grab his stuff and get in the car, to drive away until every single blasted sign pointing to Elysium University would be only a dot in the distance behind them. But Aziraphale had already begun to slowly walk back up the steps of the university by the time Crowley had unlocked his car. So, he hadn’t. And he’d hated having to leave the angel behind while driving away more than anything else.

There was no point in mulling it over now, he told himself as he took another sip of wine. He would spend the night of Valentine’s Day in the same way he’d spent it in the past several years. That was, ignoring it completely. And he wouldn’t think about how it could have gone if Alfess hadn’t walked into the office, if he’d taken Aziraphale on a date right away, if he’d asked him to come with him when he had the chance. He would push those thoughts to the deepest recesses of his mind and leave them there until he could see Aziraphale again.

And Aziraphale, on his part, would… He felt a stinging pain in his chest at envisioning the way Aziraphale would be spending the night, at a pompous event meant to steal his achievement away from him and surrounded by people who were far too good at hurting him. And that one thought was more painful than any other he had been trying to repress since he’d pressed his foot on the gas pedal to drive away. Because it was one thing to tell himself that he had time to see Aziraphale again, go with him on what he could finally call a ‘date’ in his mind and do it all over again as much as they pleased. But it was quite another to know exactly how Aziraphale would be spending that time until they would, and it surprised even him just how unbearable that vision felt.

So, Crowley stood up and decided that he was done waiting. He had time, but he was bloody well going to make a better use of it than idly waiting around for the next good chance to present itself.

And, most importantly, he wasn’t going to let Aziraphale spend another second of it alone.

✦

Aziraphale wasn’t one to make lists in his head of things he hated. He found that they hardly ever helped and only made the items on the list seem all the much more unpleasant. He’d had to repeat himself that quite often over his years teaching at Elysium University, but he had always managed to shy away from them, preferring to push those kinds of thoughts to the back of his mind. Well, until now, at least.

As he found himself surrounded by an entire crowd of nameless faces, Aziraphale realised too late that he had begun compiling an angry list in his mind. He hated that the buffet table barely offered anything more than a few bites of food, leaving him without a way to escape the empty conversations he was continuously being forced into and missing the one pleasure he was hoping to get from the event. He hated the countless comments and compliments he kept receiving about the book, each of them sounding less genuine than the last. He hated the unbearable number of times that Gabriel had patted him on the shoulder and introduced him to yet another stiff figure with a calculating gaze, giving him only a few minutes to talk before redirecting the conversation to ways that the university could benefit from the visibility of his book.

And, most of all, he hated to think about how different that night could have been if only he’d refused to participate at the event. About who he could have been spending it with.

His thoughts were brusquely interrupted when he noticed Gabriel making his way through the crowd in his direction again, a group of three people wearing wildly bored expressions trailing behind him. It took Aziraphale less than a second to decide that he definitely didn’t want to be there once Gabriel would reach the spot where he was standing. So, he sprinted to the side, circling along the edge of the room until he reached the exit leading into an adjacent section of the building. The shift from the crowded and suffocating room to the tranquil silence of the empty space came as a huge relief. Aziraphale took several deep breaths as he leaned his back against the wall, waiting for his racing heart to slow down.

It was at that point that his phone began buzzing from inside his pocket. He felt his heart immediately drop to his stomach, dreading to look at the screen to check who was calling. Considering that he’d bolted from the room just as Gabriel had been searching for him, it wasn’t too difficult to guess who could be calling him mere minutes after having walked through the door. He imagined that he would find Michael or Uriel on the other end, whispering angrily in the phone for him to return to the event, because Gabriel could not be bothered to look for him himself while so many walking opportunities were roaming around the room.

He shut his eyes as he slipped the phone out of his pocket, unwilling to even look at the screen. He pressed the familiar button to answer the call and brought it to his ears, desperately trying to focus on making his voice sound steady.

One deep breath. “Hello?”

“Angel,”

Aziraphale very nearly dropped his phone at the sound of the voice on the other end of the line, which did not belong to any of his colleagues. His heart was pounding so hard that it felt like it was about to jump out of his chest at any moment.

“Crowley?” He knew that his tone was dripping with relief, but he made no effort to control it. The sound of Crowley’s voice immediately flooded his whole body with a warm, comforting feeling. It took him a few seconds to manage to add, “Why are you calling?”

“Where are you? Still at the school?” Crowley spoke clearly but quickly, his voice sounding slightly frantic.

“Yes, I’m still here. I’m at the…” his voice faltered for a second as his gaze flicked to the door, making sure that nobody else was walking through it. _Torture_ , his brain supplied. “...event to promote the book.”

“I’m gonna be there in fifteen minutes at most. Meet me outside.”

“W-what?” Aziraphale wasn’t sure if he’d heard correctly, his heart launching itself into a renewed race. His fingers closed tightly around the phone, and he couldn’t help the glimmer of hope sparking in his chest. “You’re coming _here_?”

Crowley’s tone softened. “Wait for me, angel. I’m almost there.”

Aziraphale opened his mouth to reply but Crowley had already hung up, the dull disconnect tone blaring in his ear. Without needing to think twice about it, his feet hurried towards the entrance of the school.

He had to wait barely more than a handful of minutes in the chilled night air - he had given up on getting his coat to avoid crossing the crowded room again - before an unmistakable black Bentley came speeding up the path. Aziraphale couldn’t tell when exactly he had started smiling, but he could feel his mouth stretched in a wide grin. As soon as the car was parked haphazardly in the closest spot, Crowley leaped out of it and made his way towards him with long strides.

Aziraphale’s breath hitched in his throat, and he froze in place once his eyes fell on the tall, lean figure approaching him. Crowley’s body was clad in black as usual, but this time he was wearing tight dress trousers that left very little to the imagination with each movement. A black silk shirt loosely hugged his torso, and Aziraphale couldn’t help the way his eyes roamed down the few open top buttons, offering a marvelous view of a large patch of skin on his chest. And on top of it, a leather jacket completed the look, taut around his arms and shoulders and rising just above his wrist with each step. Aziraphale’s mouth had suddenly gone very dry, and breathing had strangely become a most difficult task. Crowley looked absolutely _gorgeous_. (His brain had actually supplied other much more colourful words, but that was the one he chose to focus on)

As Crowley got closer, he got a better view of his windswept hair, burning like a flame in the darkness of the evening and partly falling in messy strands on his forehead. He had pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head, and his bright hazel eyes were fixed on Aziraphale, pinning him in place. He was walking fast, and yet to Aziraphale it felt like an eternity before he finally, blessedly reached him and stopped in front of him, their faces a mere few inches away.

“Hey angel.” Crowley’s voice sounded slightly breathless, as though he had just come back from a run. There was a decisive look in his eyes that Aziraphale couldn’t quite decipher.

His smile was so wide that it nearly hurt. “Hello, dear.” He gave himself one more second to stare at Crowley before he continued, “What’s going on? Why are you-”

He was interrupted by Crowley’s hands snaking around his arms, circling his elbows softly and settling there. Then, he pulled Aziraphale closer, effectively putting an end to whatever activity his lungs had been able to recover in the last few seconds. His lips curved in a small smile, but this time there was no hint of teasing in it. There was only something warm and sweet that made butterflies appear in Aziraphale’s stomach.

“Before you say anything else, there’s something I really need to do.”

And before Aziraphale could ask, Crowley’s lips fell on his. There was one long moment in which their lips were simply pressed together, Aziraphale too frozen in surprise to be able to react. Then, just as he felt the touch of Crowley’s mouth beginning to move away, he opened his own, capturing the soft lips again. His hands moved up to grasp the lapels of the leather jacket, and at the same time Crowley’s arm slid around his shoulder, somehow bringing their faces even closer. A small surprised groan escaped the redhead when he eagerly reciprocated the kiss, which only made Aziraphale want to kiss him even harder. He felt a shiver running down his spine when Crowley’s teeth gently nipped at his lower lip, and he opened his mouth even more, firmly interlocking their lips with each other. And when Crowley’s tongue snaked through his parted lips, slowly exploring his mouth and sliding along his teeth, it felt like pure bliss. Like a piece of Heaven on Earth.

They kept kissing eagerly, pressed against each other as much as their bodies would allow, until they eventually parted to regain their breath, although neither of them loosened his hold on the other. Crowley’s lips were red and slightly swollen, his cheeks violently flushed, and Aziraphale thought that it was just about the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen. Crowley smirked as his eyes roamed Aziraphale’s face, nearly glowing with excitement. The hand that wasn’t wrapped around his shoulder rose to gently stroke his cheek and move a loose strand of hair away from his forehead. Aziraphale was surprised at how easily he leaned into the touch, almost chasing Crowley’s fingers.

Crowley chuckled, letting his hand rest at the base of Aziraphale’s neck. “Oh look at you all flushed for me, angel.” His thumb began drawing circles on the skin, sparks erupting from the touch. “If I’d known you were this eager for a kiss, I would’ve done it sooner.”

Aziraphale pouted visibly, which only made the smirk on the other’s face grow even wider. “I beg to differ, dearest. You are the one who kissed _me._ ”

“As if you didn’t jump right into it.” Crowley’s tone failed to sound fully teasing, the vein of fondness in it as clear as day.

“Well, I was left with no choice after you kept me waiting that long.”

Crowley laughed loudly at that, his chest shaking against Aziraphale’s. “Yeah, I guess I did.” He brought his face closer to murmur in his ear. “How about I make it up to you?”

Then, his touch slid down Aziraphale’s arm until it found his hand, entangling their fingers together. He tugged on it as he stepped back, pulling Aziraphale along with him. He turned to send him a wink. “I say it’s time we go on that proper date.”

Aziraphale had already begun to nod when his eyes flicked to the lit entrance on the side, echoes of voices streaming out of it. His heart dropped as he was harshly reminded of the reason why he was there in the first place. He froze in place, forcing Crowley to stop midstep. “I- I can’t go, Crowley. I’m supposed to be in there.”

Crowley’s gaze followed his to the open entrance, and his expression darkened. “No, you’re not. They _need_ you to be in there, so they can pretend that it’s thanks to them that you wrote such a successful book and not because of all your work. You don’t have to do anything, Aziraphale.”

“But, but what should I do?” Aziraphale pulled his hand back to clasp it in his other one, wringing them together. “Forget about it and leave, just like this?”

Crowley’s hands closed on his trembling ones, stilling them. “Do you want to?”

Aziraphale took a deep breath, his eyes darting from Crowley’s face to the door and back again. He tried to imagine what it would feel like to say “No” and walk back into the room, subject to another round of meaningless questions and comments, his colleagues shooting daggers at him for having left in the first place, Gabriel presenting him yet another person that wouldn’t remember him by the end of the night. He grimaced at the thought.

He looked up at Crowley’s expectant face, and no other answer had ever come easier to him. “Yes.”

Crowley smiled, and it broke through the darkness like a beam of light. He led him gently to the car again. “Well, you’re gonna need a lift then, angel. And it just so happens that I know where you can find one.”

“Oh, how convenient for me.” Aziraphale giggled and tightened his hold on Crowley’s hand. He squeezed it right back.

Crowley started the car the moment that Aziraphale closed his side door, the engine rumbling to life immediately. He kept his eyes fixed on the university as Crowley began to back up into the road, but once he rotated the car to face the exit, Aziraphale didn’t turn around. And he didn’t turn around even as they started driving away, Crowley’s foot firmly pressed on the gas pedal. Instead, he shifted to meet the other’s gaze, a smile passing between them, and then looked only ahead for the entire ride.

✦

Aziraphale never asked Crowley where they were going, and Crowley never said. But his grip was firm on the wheel and his eyes fixed on the road, and Aziraphale knew that he had a specific place in mind. In fact, the specific place turned out to be a small restaurant in Soho, enclosed between two newer buildings like a gem among stone. The stained glass of the windows sported as many colours on the spectrum as it could fit, and the chairs and tables sitting outside had definitely seen better days. And yet, the faint sound of chattering voices streaming out of the door and the warm light passing through the windows gave it a rather welcoming appearance.

Crowley turned to look at him, a small smile on his face. “I hope you don’t mind that it isn’t the Ritz, angel. I didn’t exactly plan this.”

Aziraphale leaned forward to plant a light kiss on his lips, and he could feel his smile growing wider. “I love it.” He murmured against his mouth.

Crowley tilted his head to deepen the kiss, but Aziraphale was quick to pull back, sending him a tiny smirk instead. The expression of surprise on the other’s face soon turned into a grin, “You bloody tease.”

“I believe we have a date to attend.” Aziraphale threw over his shoulder in an overly cheery tone as he opened the car door to step outside. Crowley followed with a grumble that sounded a lot more like a chuckle.

Once inside, it became starkly clear that the restaurant had taken the recurrence of Valentine’s Day very seriously. Every table had been provided with a red tablecloth, embroidered with rows of small hearts along the edges. The centerpieces weren’t any less elaborate, with several different cutouts of cartoon hearts - some even pierced through by an arrow - placed in various arrangements, many of them far too big for the table itself. On the central counter, a large sign spelled in curved letters ‘Our Valentine Menu’.

Aziraphale didn’t fail to notice Crowley’s visible eye roll behind his dark lenses, an eyebrow raised as he assessed the decorations. He turned to shoot the redhead an innocent smile, “Oh my dear, we simply must try the Valentine Menu!”

“You’re pushing your luck, Aziraphale.” He mumbled, but the ghost of a smile was there as he asked for a table.

They were given a small table in the far corner of the restaurant, one of the least decorated spots, much to Crowley’s relief. As it turned out, the Valentine Menu was much less a recommendation than it was an imposition, and the waiter succeeded in his mission of dropping two bright pink menus on the table, which was less of a relief. The names for each dish had been turned into honeyed puns, and Aziraphale couldn’t help a giggle at the desperate look on Crowley’s face. Still, despite the staring competition between him and the waiter when Crowley asked if the puns were included in the price, they both got their orders in.

Crowley’s mood visibly improved once Aziraphale stretched his arm over the table to take his hand, giving it a small squeeze. He turned his hand around to trap Aziraphale’s fingers between his own, and just like that the slight scowl on his face was washed away. Dishes came and went - Aziraphale found each of them delicious and made no effort to hide his appreciation, with Crowley’s eyes following his every movement - and they swiftly fell into an animated conversation that had the both of them laughing merrily and Crowley gesticulating quite a lot. Their hands remained intertwined on the table for nearly all of it.

After the waiter returned one more time to enunciate the list of desserts and Crowley barely flinched at the names that had obviously been decided for last and had therefore turned out dangerously close to being unbearable, Aziraphale sent him a fond look from across the table.

He was quick to catch it and reply with a grin. “What is it, angel?”

“I was just noticing how you seem to be enjoying Valentine’s Day quite a lot, dearest.”

He raised an eyebrow in a quizzical expression, and Aziraphale continued, smirking a little. “I do remember you calling it something similar to a ‘big pointless show for money’ the last time we discussed it.”

Crowley’s brows had shot all the way up to his hairline, an incredulous half-smile stamped on his face. “Do you, now?”

Before Aziraphale could reply, he pointed a finger at him in what was clearly meant to look like a threatening way but failed slightly at it. “I still think it is, by the way. And this,” he waved a hand around at the heavy decorations spread out through the restaurant. “Definitely proves my point.”

Then, his gaze softened as he looked down at their hands still joined on the table. “But, I guess it’s far more bearable when I get to spend it with you.”

That response caught Aziraphale off guard, and he felt his cheeks flush violently as he sent the other a wide-eyed stare. Crowley’s sunglasses had slid down his nose, and his eyes looked almost bare as he gazed back at him, an entire sea of emotions swimming behind them. That look tugged at Aziraphale’s heart, making it speed up to a wild pace in his chest. However, he made sure that his voice sounded steady when he replied, “I could say the same, Crowley.”

And then, they were once again smiling widely at each other, and Aziraphale found that he couldn’t quite remember a time that he’d felt as happy as in that moment.

At least, until the phone rang.

It buzzed loudly from his pocket and sent a pang to his chest. He knew exactly who it was, and a quick look at the screen confirmed his fears. He debated turning it off or ignoring the call, but he also knew that there would only be more of these calls, and he couldn’t avoid them forever. He wanted this to be the very last one of them.

Crowley must have read his expression, because he sent him a worried look. “You don’t have to answer, if you don’t want to.”

Aziraphale steeled himself, his hold tightening on the phone. “No, I- I want to. I need to do this.”

Crowley gave him a small nod of encouragement, and Aziraphale took the time to lock his gaze on him before taking a long breath and answering the call. “Hello?”

Gabriel’s voice erupted viciously on the other end. “Aziraphale, _where_ in Heaven’s name are you? We’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

He willed himself to keep his voice steady. “I left.”

A long, shocked pause. “What do you mean you left? In the middle of the event promoting _your_ book?”

A spike of anger rose in Aziraphale’s chest at the memory of the event that was anything other than dedicated to him. “Well, I thought you were doing a great job of entertaining the guests, so I didn’t see a point in me staying there.”

He caught the corner of Crowley’s mouth rising up in amusement, and the sight made him feel a little bolder. Gabriel’s voice returned, laced with badly veiled fury. “You’d better return to the university this instant, Aziraphale. Or you might find yourself without a job come Monday morning.”

Aziraphale froze in shock at the threat, a panicked expression pushing his way onto his face. He hadn’t expected Gabriel to go as far as threatening to fire him. He looked at Crowley for help, and suddenly the words that he had spoken to him in front of the university swam back in his mind. _They need you._

And Aziraphale knew it to be true. He knew that Gabriel would never fulfill his threat, because that meant losing the book that was bringing his university so much popularity along with Aziraphale. He also knew that, if he played it right, he could end the phone call with his night still free and his job safely secured at the start of the week. And yet, the thought of setting foot in the university again with the string of events and promoting that would inevitably follow now felt unbearable. So, he said, “I guess I will come to pick up my possessions from my office on Monday, then.”

“Wh-what?” Gabriel spitted out in a strangled voice. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I most certainly am. You said that I won’t have a job on Monday if I don’t return to the university, and at the moment I have absolutely no intention of doing that. So, I suppose I will find myself unemployed starting next week.”

“Now, Aziraphale, let’s not be hasty,” Gabriel’s tone had suddenly turned overly polite, a sharp contrast to his seething anger of mere seconds prior. Aziraphale found that he disliked this tone even more. “I’m sure we can work this out without you getting fired. Just come back to the school and we’ll talk it over, how about that?”

“No, I don’t think so.” He surprised even himself with the certainty in his voice. “I rather think that your first idea was the best one, you were definitely right, Gabriel. I will see you on Monday to make it official, shall I?”

“No, wait, listen up-” Aziraphale hung up before Gabriel could finish his sentence, putting his phone back in his pocket with much less weight in his chest than when he’d taken it out.

Once he looked up, he saw Crowley staring at him with wide eyes, jaw hanging slightly open. “Did you just quit your job on the spot?”

Aziraphale smiled, and for the first time in a long while he felt that it truly was a proud smile. “Yes, I suppose I did.” He sent a knowing look Crowley’s way. “And they just lost a book on the spot.”

The wide grin on Crowley’s face was a true sight to behold. “You really are a work of art, angel.”

That was all the prompting Aziraphale needed to lean over the table and press a hard kiss on the other’s mouth, having to wait barely a second for Crowley to happily reciprocate. The wave of pride surging in his chest felt almost as sweet as the soft lips on his.

✦

It took Aziraphale a whole of ten minutes after having exited the restaurant and Crowley’s question, “So, where to?” to realise that he didn’t have his house keys with him. Nor the remote to disengage his alarm or his entire coat that contained all those things, for that matter.

He fidgeted with his hands as he replied, “Well, there might be the slight chance that my house keys remained at the university.”

Crowley looked at him up and down, as though only now noticing that Aziraphale wasn’t exactly dressed for the weather. His mouth curved into a smile. “Oh, how unfortunate for you.”

“And I don’t believe it would be the best course of action to go back to retrieve them.”

“Hmm, surely not.” It wasn’t hard to tell how much Crowley was enjoying this. “Then, I guess you find yourself on the streets tonight, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale put on a fake pout, while his heart soared in his chest. “If only there was somewhere else I could stay for the night.”

The grin on Crowley’s face had turned almost devilish as he put an arm around his shoulder, pulling him closer. Aziraphale instinctively leaned into him, letting his shoulder rest on Crowley’s chest. Then, the redhead leaned down to murmur in his ear, “Well, isn’t this your lucky day?”

The violent shiver that ran down Aziraphale’s spine lingered for the entire car ride. And there it was still while Crowley unlocked his front door, moving aside to let him in.

Aziraphale walked in slowly, his eyes roaming around the familiar space. He heard Crowley moving behind him, closing the door again and then walking somewhere to the side. He turned to look at him and was met with the sight of the other’s back wrapped only in his dark silk shirt as he slipped off the leather jacket to throw it on the back of the sofa. Aziraphale followed his movements with an enticed gaze, watching as Crowley removed his sunglasses and set them down on the small table, running a hand through his hair. Then, he turned his head to look straight at Aziraphale, their gazes meeting in the middle before the latter could avert his eyes.

“See something you like, angel?” The glint in Crowley’s eyes sent sparks running through his body.

He took a few steps forward, closing the distance between them, and put on a smirk of his own. “Indeed I do.”

Crowley’s face flushed slightly at the reply, but in a matter of seconds he was moving towards him. He reached Aziraphale with a few long strides and took his face in his hands, pressing a burning hot kiss on his mouth. “So do I.” He whispered against his lips, before capturing them in another fervent kiss, his hands moving to slide the jacket off of Aziraphale’s shoulders.

As soon as the jacket hit the floor, Crowley broke the kiss to look at him, his eyes shining like twin flames. He let a hand run through Aziraphale’s hair until it stopped in the same exact spot at the base of his neck where it had before. “Let me show you just how much I’ve been waiting for you.”

Aziraphale nodded earnestly, and it was all the cue Crowley needed to press their mouths together once more, simultaneously leading him forward along with him.

And as they made their way to the bedroom, they left a messy trail of discarded clothes behind them.

✦

Only a handful of minutes after having woken up in Crowley’s arms and Aziraphale had already decided that any other way of waking up simply couldn’t compete. Crowley’s body was pressed against his back, one arm slumped over his shoulder and even breaths tingling at the base of his neck. It was pure bliss.

At least until a faint ray of sunlight chose that exact moment to fall right on Aziraphale’s face, forcing him to squint his eyes. Annoyed, he turned around slowly until he was facing Crowley, careful not to wake him up in the process. But apparently, not careful enough because Crowley’s face scrunched up in response, his eyes fluttering open after a few seconds. Once his vision swam into focus, he smiled at Aziraphale, “M’ning, angel.”

Aziraphale put a hand on his shoulder, drawing small circles with his fingers. “Good morning, dear.”

Crowley fell silent for a bit, his eyes seemingly studying Aziraphale’s face. Finally, he spoke, his voice sounding clearer. “Your bed hair is just wonderful.”

Aziraphale burst out laughing, jokingly slapping his arm and falling on his back. “Barely woken up and you’re already a tease!”

“Oi, it was an honest compliment!” Crowley propped himself up on his elbow to stare down at him. “Can’t a guy give compliments anymore?”

“He can,” Aziraphale smiled brightly, raising his head just enough to give him a quick peck on the cheek.

Crowley responded with a grin of his own, his eyes still locked with Aziraphale’s, until he spoke again. “What does the Z in your name stand for?”

“You’re asking me _now_?” Aziraphale blurted out, sending him an incredulous look.

“I’ve been meaning to ask and I never have. What’s it stand for, angel?”

“Uhm,” he averted his eyes, feeling a small blush rising in his cheeks. “It, it stands for nothing.”

Crowley gave him a confused look. “Nothing?”

Aziraphale covered his face with his hands, speaking through them. “Well, when I was first hired at the university they asked me what my initials were, and they expected there to be a middle name. And all the other faculty there had a middle name, and I had just spoken to Sandy Alfess who had made me very nervous, and-”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley interrupted him, the hint of a smile in his voice. “Did you make a middle name for yourself?”

“Just the initial!” Aziraphale lowered his hands, looking back at Crowley who now had the biggest grin on his face. “I simply used the second letter of my name. It is hardly my fault that I wasn’t given a middle name.”

Right,” Crowley’s grin wasn’t giving signs of dying down anytime soon, but there was a fond look in his eyes. “Well, I, for one, think it suits you. Certainly sounds better than some of the names I’ve heard over there.”

Aziraphale burst into a fit of giggles at that, soon followed by Crowley’s laugh, until both of them were bent in half next to each other laughing at the top of their lungs. As he tried to pull himself up on the bed, Aziraphale’s hand accidentally flailed in the direction of the nightstand and hit something sitting on it.

Loud music suddenly filled the room, startling both of them and echoing out of the door and down the hallway. Crowley peeked over his shoulder, brows scrunched up in annoyance. “I think you just hit the radio function on my alarm.”

_Ooh, baby, do you know what that’s worth?_  
_Ooh, Heaven is a place on Earth_

The voice of Belinda Carlisle blasted through the room, while Aziraphale tried to press every single button on the small black box in the hopes that one of them would put her to rest. Once it became clear that he wasn’t going to succeed, he flopped back on the bed, sending Crowley an apologetic look. Crowley’s shoulders shook a little with laughter, and a soft smile stretched on his face. He placed a hand on Aziraphale’s cheek, gently caressing it with his thumb.

_They say in Heaven, love comes first_

“You know,” Crowley said loudly to speak over the blaring music, his hand still on Aziraphale’s face. “I know a place that’s selling in Soho. Big space in a good street. Bet it would make a great bookshop.”

Aziraphale’s eyes shot wide open in surprise, and he stammered a little to reply. “Oh. I don’t, I don’t know if I can do that. Build a whole bookshop from scratch. What I told you Crowley, that was just a silly dream.”

_We’ll make Heaven a place on Earth_

Crowley’s eyes were unmoving. “I found nothing silly about it. If there’s one person who can make that happen, it’s you.” He was silent for a moment, his hand sliding down to rest on Aziraphale’s shoulder. “If you want.”

Aziraphale wanted it. He wanted it so much that he felt his chest burn at the mere thought. And Crowley was offering him a way to reach it as though it were the most regular thing in the world. As though it were natural for Crowley to worry about his future alongside him. He felt tears prickling at the side of his eyes. “I do.”

_Ooh, Heaven is a place on Earth_

“Fantastic,” the redhead grinned at him, leaning down to bring their faces closer. “I hope you’ll consider making me your business partner.”

“Hmm, I’ll ponder on it,” Aziraphale was beaming up at him. “I might have to make you my partner in a couple other areas, too.”

“Oh, how could I refuse such an offer?” Crowley drawled, catching his lips in one long, soft kiss.

And, as Aziraphale kissed him back, he found that he quite agreed with Belinda in that moment.

_Ooh, Heaven is a place on Earth_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are at the end! I guess they did go on a proper date, didn't they?
> 
> Once again, I want to thank everyone who has been reading this well beyond the time of Valentine's Day, you have all made my entire month of February. It's been a pleasure to dump truckloads of fluff on you, and I hope I get to do it again very soon. In the meantime, if you just can't get enough of my rambling, come find me and my daily chaotic posts on twitter, @flamingbentley. I'll be happy to scream with you.


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